After the Dream
by Servatia
Summary: To her relief, Edith finds Thomas alive. Barely, but alive. While she doesn't want him dead, if he wants to keep her in his life, he will have to work for it. And she knows exactly what he needs to do: Lay the ghosts to rest. (This is completely unrelated to So Far the Reach of Fate.))
1. Dust and Bones

_((I thought I was done with them. I had two possible directions for my fic to go, the first one I thought of was actually this one. Then I thought, no, I'll chase them to the other end of Europe, which became_ So Far the Reach of Fate _. But this keeps nagging. So, my original plan A gets its own, much more sinister story. Not that I planned it sinister, but it's started to run away with me and who am I to deny it. And then I'd like to get them out of my head again, if they please._

 _Also, other than the first one, I haven't written this in one sitting (I'm done with chapter 4 right now and have written everything up to and including it in one day) but will post a chapter a day until I catch up with myself (which means I'll have to slow it down a bit if I want to keep my job) and don't want to wait until I'm finished. I know where I'm going, my path is mostly fleshed out, so it's really just the putting it all into words._

 _There are two things – aside from the obvious – that inspired this, but I cannot list them at this point. One would be misleading, the other a spoiler.))_

* * *

 _1\. Dust and Bones_

Edith's steps faltered as they neared the gate leading out and away. Away from this toxic place, away … People were coming from the village below, only the sheen of their torches visible in the fog. 'Edith. You need to go to a hospital.'

She felt irrational laughter threatening to bubble up from deep within. 'You're one to talk.' She halted. 'Alan … I've got to go back.'

His eyes were wide and blue and judging by his expression he thought she had lost her mind. 'Edith …'

She clawed her fingers into his arms. 'I have to say good-bye.'

Exhausted, pale with pain and blood loss, Alan groaned. 'To what?'

'Thomas,' she said quietly. She had seen him, his ghost she had thought, but she knew enough ghosts now to say for sure that they didn't, shouldn't look like he had.

'The man that tried to murder you with his sister? The sister he, need I remind you, bedded?'

No reminder was necessary, although how Alan had figured that one out was beyond her. She saw it as clearly as if she hadn't just had seconds to witness it but hours: Thomas on his sister's bed with her hand between his legs … and his eyes squeezed shut. 'He saved your life. And mine.'

'No, Edith, you saved your own life. He's gone.'

'He was there.' She shook herself and took a step backwards. 'Stay. Go with them. You need help.'

'So do you, you …'

'I just need a moment.' It was a mark of how drained Alan was that he let her walk when he clearly didn't want to.

No ghost greeted Edith when she set foot in that horrible house again. Slowly, she started to feel the pain in her broken ankle again and she leaned heavily on the bannister as she dragged herself up the stairs to where Lucille had coaxed her signature from her.

Edith pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling when she found Thomas's broken body on the floor. He was almost as pale as the apparition that had distracted Lucille, had looked on impassively as she had slain her, had tried to snuggle into her hand …

Gently, she brushed the hair out of his face and sat with his head on her lap. His skin was cool, but she had expected it to be much colder, almost as frozen as the air in the draughty room. A ghastly wound was in his cheek, blood had flowed from it and from his left eye. More was on his clothing. He was still, so still and peaceful. 'Thomas,' she said, her voice surprisingly steady. 'Let me say farewell, if you can hear me.' She peered into the dust, waiting, waiting … A mixture of a sob and a laugh broke from her. 'The one time I _want_ to see a ghost, he isn't showing.'

There was a soft knock on the doorframe outside, and Edith froze. A face appeared, not that of a ghost but of a man with tufty white hair and friendly grey eyes. 'Mrs Sharpe?' He entered and crouched beside her husband. His brows were furrowed slightly. 'Unbelievable. What a terror, the last hours.' He shook himself. 'My apologies. I am Doctor Vincent Pilgrim. I was the family doctor, whenever one was needed. Which was incredibly rare. The Sharpe's have always been a more resilient lot than one might think by looking at them. And we certainly haven't met.' He extended his hand and Edith shook it automatically. 'I hear that you have a broken ankle and have been poisoned. Your friend, the other American, I sent him with someone to the hospital. The rest are waiting for us outside. You still need taking care of.'

'He saved him,' Edith said. 'Thomas saved Alan.'

'So he told me.'

'He did?' She was genuinely surprised by that, although she probably shouldn't have been. Alan was an honest man.

'Indeed. Mrs Sharpe. Let the dead rest.'

Her hands had been brushing through Thomas's hair all the time, she noticed. She forced herself to stop. 'I'd hoped …' She fell silent, knowing that her voice would break at last if she continued.

Pilgrim looked at Thomas's face with a wistful expression. He touched the back of his hand to his cheek. 'How long since she's attacked him?'

'I … I honestly don't know. Minutes. Hours. No idea.'

'Ah. Small wonder. But still.' His face hardened and he opened Thomas's shirt rapidly, revealing two deep stab wounds in his chest. He placed his hand on his neck for a few seconds before examining his injuries closely. At last, he looked at her with a grim smile. 'Mrs Sharpe, can you walk?'

'No. I flew up here.'

She got a small chuckle out of the doctor and wanted to punch him in the face. She did not. He sobered at once and roughly closed up Thomas's doublet. 'I intended to assist you, however …' He stood and offered a hand, this time to pull her to her feet. 'However, this changes that, of course. You see, your husband cannot. Walk, that is. Or fly, for that matter.'

'Doctor …'

His grim smile turned marginally gentler. 'He still lives. He lost a lot of blood very quickly and fainted. Anyone would have. I'll get him downstairs, don't worry, I'm not as frail as I look.'

'No.'

'Well, I cannot leave him here in the dust and cold, or he will be dead in a very short time. No matter what he has done, I am a doctor, not a judge.' Already, with surprising strength, Pilgrim had gathered Thomas's frame in his arms and pushed himself upright.

'That's not it. They'll … they'll lynch him down there!'

Pilgrim tutted. 'We are not barbarians, you know. Also,' he panted a little under his cargo, 'given Lucille's history and your friend's statement … I don't know how much blame we can even put on this fool. If someone were to testify that all that was done was done by the sister … only he himself would be able to correct them.' He stopped and looked at her walking next to him. 'Assuming he survives this, which I can't promise. Mrs Sharpe, do you understand what I am telling you?'

And finally, the penny dropped. 'Yes. I do.'

'I'm not telling you what to do, but you have a lot of power over this man. You can get him hanged, you can get him into an asylum, or you can help him walk away free. If you want a divorce, I don't recommend the latter.'

'What …' She swallowed.

'I can't answer whatever question this was meant to be. This is your decision alone, Mrs Sharpe. Just be aware of the impact every word you say will have. What I want or think better is moot.'

'Doctor, I killed Lucille.'

Pilgrim snorted. 'Come now. It takes one look at you, your friend, and even your husband to know what that was. Not worth even a court date.' He stopped as they reached the exit, leaning against the wall briefly. 'No. The only one whose future is hanging in the balance is this fellow here. Maybe he'll be dead by the time we get him to a hospital. Ah. Judging by the look on your face, you hope otherwise. Think about this. Think about it hard and soberly. Leave your heart out of it, whether it wants to forgive or to take revenge. Think of the dead, of yourself, of that woman out in the snow. Think of the kind of husband he was to the others and to you but stay detached. Then, I am certain, you will make an informed decision. The kind you will not come to regret. Can you do that?'

Slowly, Edith nodded. 'Yes. I absolutely can.'

* * *

 _((Doctor Pilgrim got his given name and the first letter of his last name from an actor I love dearly. His bad guys all inspired more compassion from me than horror, no matter how much blood on their hands. While not exactly Byronic heroes, they are the closest thing to that I encountered when I was as young as nine years old. Pilgrim's appearance does not match that actor, however.))_


	2. Clearing the Fog

_2\. Clearing the Fog_

The room was filled with an unfamiliar scent, the bed was too soft, and it was generally too loud. Not _loud_ loud, but people were moving about outside the room.

Before Thomas could jump with alarm, he remembered. The depot. He was in the depot, he was here with Edith, his lovely, beautiful, brilliant wife, a stolen night before the horrors would go on. He kept his eyes closed and smiled, remembering … everything. Her scent, her touch, her whispers to him. So different.

No. He'd have to try to save her. He had to be careful about this, if he acted abruptly, he would fail. Lucille's poison was slow, so he had time. But if Edith died, he wasn't certain that he wanted to live. Alone. With Lucille. The prospect of upholding that fateful oath at such a cost seemed more terrifying than anything else he could conceive.

Filled with longing, Thomas reached out to his side. His hand met only an empty bed, but a jolt of pain shot through his chest and he sat up abruptly.

He took in the room, the bed, noted a figure hurrying off. Hospital. He was in a hospital. And it all came back to him. Before he could make up his mind to get out of bed, Doctor Pilgrim entered and closed the door. 'So you're awake.' He gestured behind himself. 'I posted a nurse in your room, in case you're wondering.'

'Edith.' His throat hurt, but he managed to get her name out. 'She's …'

'She was here, she will be fine now. She'll use crutches for another week or two, but with any luck, she'll recover fully without so much as a limp.'

Thomas tried to stand and succeeded in falling out of the bed. He struggled to his feet, using the bedframe as support. 'No. She's sick, too. She's been poisoned, we …'

'Sir Thomas. I am aware of what Lucille has done to your wife. Both Mr McMichael and she have told us of the events that led to the tragedy in your house. Please, get back into bed, you are far from healthy.'

'But …'

'Listen. I need you to stay here for a little while. Rest assured that Mrs Sharpe is safe. She has left the hospital already.'

'Do you know where she went?'

'Home, she said.'

Thomas nodded slowly. Buffalo, then. 'The other man. Alan McMichael. Is he all right?'

'Ah. Yes. Much like you, he lost a lot of blood, but he will be fine. He has left already. You, however, developed an infection and slipped in and out of consciousness for a couple of weeks. You had me very worried, Sir Thomas. This is the first lucid conversation you're having.'

'What did I say before I was lucid?'

'Sadly, the nurse I placed here does not understand enough English to follow the muttering of a man that is only partly conscious.'

'Why are you protecting me?'

'I left your fate in your wife's hands. It was her call to end you or … not. She decided not to, and I did not mean to sabotage her fervent attempts to keep you whole and free.'

Thomas finally returned himself to the bed. He was tired, infinitely tired. 'I'm sure they'll be happy together.' He frowned slightly. 'Did Edith ask at all …'

'Every single day at least once until she left. And if it's any consolation, I did not observe that she was interested in her friend. From the way it looked, they might have been siblings.' Thomas cringed inwardly, but Pilgrim, standing next to him, made no further comment that hinted he knew. 'I have no idea what she's going to do with you, but I can tell you one thing: She's saved your neck. I think you were much more involved in Lucille's crimes than she made it sound. If we take her word for it, you were little more than a prisoner yourself. And her word is the only word we have, so you are a free man.'

'I was weak and stupid,' Thomas said. 'Pathetic. I've always been pathetic. I'm just … glad that she's alive.'

'There's a chance she's in your house, you know. She really did just say she went home without being any more specific.'

'It was never a home to her.' How could it have been? Again, he thought of the depot. They should have vanished. They could have been happy and he could have taken his secrets to the grave. 'How long do I need to stay?'

'Until you can stand for longer than half a minute, for starters.' Pilgrim sighed. 'Rest, young man. Look at yourself. You've got so much time ahead of you. I suggest you take the fact that you still live as an incentive to do better. I shall return tomorrow.'


	3. Inventory of Wasted Lives

_3\. Inventory of Wasted Lives_

Edith stood with her glasses perched on her nose, a large ledger on her left arm and her father's pen in her right hand. She'd had to replace the tip because apparently it wasn't meant to be stuck into people. She contemplated the closet, took note of every small item inside it. She had no quarrel with any of them, so they were listed on the left side of the ledger. To her relief, it was the longer list. Good. She wasn't going crazy.

She turned and saw the dust gathering speed and drifting out of the room. This was no ghost. Those were remarkably silent right now. They weren't gone. Just … inactive. Maybe even ghosts needed a bit of time to adjust to changes.

The dust's floating out meant that someone had opened the door downstairs. Occasionally, Finlay came up to check on her, but he would have called out by now.

That was when she heard her name, but the voice wasn't Finlay's. Edith stood frozen for a few seconds. Then she took a deep breath. She knew this would happen. What she would say was beyond her, however.

When Edith made it out of the room to look down, she saw Thomas standing right below the hole in the roof, turning slowly. Something made her stick to the shadows. He put down his travelling bag. 'Lucille?' he called, and her lips tightened. 'Lucille!' There was an urgent note in his voice. 'I wish you could hear me.' Then he said something so softly it was lost to her two floors above him, before he slumped to his knees and raised his voice to a yell. 'I want to kill you with my own hands and bring you back again only to kill you over and over!'

Before she knew what she was doing, Edith was halfway down the stairs. As she touched Thomas's shoulder, he went rigid. 'Thomas, it's me. She's not coming back.'

Without looking at her, Thomas placed a hand on hers. 'Edith.' He turned his head slowly. 'Am I mad?'

'I haven't decided that yet.'

'Fair enough.' He let his hand fall. 'Are you going to leave me?'

'I haven't decided that, either.'

He nodded slowly. 'What are you doing?'

'Taking inventory. There are a lot of things that are so very broken that fixing them seems pointless. And things I plainly don't want to keep if I should stay. But I wouldn't sell them yet, if I were you. I cannot promise anything.'

'What would you want gone?'

'The piano. Her bed.'

Thomas huffed. 'Burn them, if you wish. I have no love for either.'

'I need you to do something for me. I cannot say if that will convince me to remain with you, but if you want that to be an option at all, you need to do it.' When he didn't prompt her, she continued anyway. 'The bodies of your mother and your wives. They need to be interred. You need to get them from wherever you dumped them and have them buried.'

Thomas sat heavily on his heels. 'I can't do that.'

'Because you don't know where they are?'

'Because …' He swallowed and truly looked at her for the first time, his eyes wide and frightened. 'It's not that simple. We could leave. That would be easier.'

'I'm not sure you deserve easy, Thomas.'

'No. But if I do this, I may end up as mad as Lucille.'

'Then I will leave you. As I will if you don't try.' He sighed deeply. 'Do you need a bit of time to decide?'

Thomas stared at her. 'No. What a question.' He took a deep breath. 'My choice can be only one. For only one comes with the chance, however slim it may be, that you'll stay. I'll do anything you ask of me.'

'You're not going to be alone in this. I'll remain here for the time being. I just don't know if it will be for good.' She lowered her voice. 'If I can forgive you.'

A ghost of a smile touched Thomas's face. 'I will forever love and adore you for wanting to try.' He tilted his head. 'How badly were you injured, Edith? Are you reasonably well now?'

She sighed. 'Let's not discuss that on the floor, all right?'

Ϡ

Thomas followed Edith to the kitchen. He noticed that several things had changed, but only details. There wasn't Lucille's rigid order, more life in how what was placed. 'Can I see your inventory?' he ventured. Edith passed him the ledger. He read the part on the right, containing what she wanted to get rid of. 'You know, not all the tea is poisoned. In fact, the poison isn't in the tea. We added that separately.'

'Regardless. I don't think I'll ever want tea again in my life.'

'We can get you coffee from town.'

'Yes. Better.'

'Can I … ah. Forget it.'

'Thomas, not talking hasn't worked that well before.'

He blushed. 'It's no trouble. I just like tea sometimes.'

Edith clicked her tongue and scratched it off the list. 'Just throw out the poison, if you don't mind.' He put his head in his hands and suddenly she was carding her fingers through his hair, coaxing him to look back at her. She cupped his cheek, her thumb narrowly avoiding the souvenir from Lucille that would forever mar his face.

He leaned into her hand. 'Will you ever be able to eat or drink anything I bring you without wondering …?'

'Well. If I can ever answer that with yes, your chances that I'll stay will be better.'

'Edith … this is going to sound so terrible.' He swallowed and forced himself to look at her. He would face her every step of the way. He couldn't keep hiding. He covered her hand with his, pressing it more firmly to his skin. 'Until you know … as long as you're not sure about me … or us … could you please not touch me? Not like this.' His words were incongruous with his continued response. He simply couldn't help it, couldn't stop himself from basking in her touch.

At least she looked bewildered rather than hurt. 'I think I understand,' she said, and with a last, gentle brush of her thumb she released him. 'So. My injuries are … I've ditched the crutches a couple of days ago. Sometimes my ankle swells if I'm careless. Other than that … I'm doing well, really. I'll keep a scar on my cheek. That makes that two of us, I suppose.'

'The poison … it didn't do any lasting damage to you?'

'Doctor Pilgrim said it wouldn't.'

'He didn't tell me you're still here.'

'That's because he doesn't know that. When I was still in the hospital, he told me that once it was out of my body, I had nothing to fear.' She frowned slightly, a look he knew from when they talked about her manuscript, when she had an idea she wasn't yet sure she wanted to reveal to him.

'Not talking hasn't worked that well before,' he said and earned a chuckle.

'True. Thomas, I'm not being arbitrary about the bodies. The house, it's haunted. It has been since the first time I got here.'

He let that sink in and blew out his cheeks. 'Edith … the poison we gave you may have had an effect on your mind. Temporarily, but still …'

'I did not imagine this. I've seen ghosts before that. I thought, stupidly, that you'd believe me.'

The crazy part was that he did. 'Well. If you saw them immediately after your arrival it couldn't have been the poison anyway. Incidentally … what ghosts? Why do I not see them?'

'Most people can't. Lucille saw your ghost, though.'

'I'm not dead.'

'No. But something … much _like_ a ghost helped me by distracting Lucille. Much like your ghost, to be precise. But … different enough to make me check if you … well.'

Thomas had to fight the impulse to reach for her hand. He managed. 'So I suppose they're the ghosts of … ah.'

'Your mother and your wives.' He looked away, couldn't look at her while she talked about them. So much for his resolve to face it all head-on. 'And I believe they'll find peace if we have them buried. Properly.'

'Good.'

'And then, when that's done, we'll take care of the last one.'

Thomas's heart went into a wild tattoo that had nothing to do with excitement and everything to do with fear. He knew the answer, but he had to ask. 'Whose?'

Edith's expression was hard and determined. 'Lucille's.'


	4. Whispers

_4\. Whispers_

Thomas went to bed early. Where, she wasn't sure. Not Lucille's room, because Edith checked there later and found it empty. Not in the master bedroom either, because he left it to her. There was a guestroom, too. It was dusty and small and generally unpleasant, but it was the only other room with a proper bed that wasn't completely broken. If Thomas had asked if they could sleep in the same bed, she would have refused. And yet, the lack of any such request hurt her. Edith shook herself. That wasn't fair. She would do this as Pilgrim had said, soberly and detached. Thomas acted like a perfect gentleman, giving her and himself space. She couldn't demand closeness when it fit her and push him away when it did not.

The truth was, she missed him. A part of her wanted to find him and snuggle into him and forgive him already. Another part of her, however, thought of the ghosts, of that first time where _he_ had been the one to bring that horrible tea to her. And yet, he had also been the one who'd one day plucked it out of her hand and told her never to drink it.

Angry at herself, Edith rose and compromised by walking up to Thomas's workshop. It was the closest she could be to him without … well, being with him. She sat on his chair and looked at the toys, at the carefully crafted heads and the small machines that did the most wondrous things. She heard the footsteps far too late to retreat, so she just remained where she was and waited. The door creaked open, and Thomas stopped in the frame, eyes tired and swollen. 'I … oh. My apologies.'

It took all the willpower she had not to rush to him and embrace him and she started to wonder whom she was kidding. 'No. This is your place.' She stood and invited him to take the seat at the desk. He walked to it, absently, and produced a piece of paper and a short, gnawed on pencil from a drawer. 'Thomas, you should sleep. You look so …'

'Broken?' He ran a hand over his face. 'I tried but couldn't. I may have a solution to my problem.' He started drawing on the paper, lines and some numbers and slowly but surely an object came to life on it. 'The vats with the clay. They are deep and the clay is viscous. If you wanted to extract something from the bottom without draining the vats, you'd need a bit more than a stick. You'd need a pulley with a hook. You need it to be firm, because you want to control the hook in the gunk. A mere chain … you could wiggle the chain but that wouldn't translate to the hook through the clay. So you'd need something like …' He faltered, took a new paper and drew a large version of an odd chain. 'A chain that you can brace somehow, even when it's in the clay, so you can move the hook properly and notice when it grabs on to something.' He looked up at her. 'Then there is the fact that I haven't the slightest idea what is where. If they're all in the same vat or all in separate ones or … well.'

'Thomas … do you miss her?'

He took a while to answer. 'Yes. I miss her. Edith, I loved her.' He frowned. 'That doesn't mean I wouldn't kill her all over again if she were here now, nor that I am not also very relieved that she is gone. I was too weak to do it and it nearly cost your life. I would not be too weak now.'

'Why not?'

He shook his head slowly. 'I don't even know. It's like … those years all passed in a haze that only stopped suffocating me when I opened my eyes in the hospital. It was easier to be silent and close my eyes to all of it. The murders, the … God, Edith, all of it, all that happened.' And now she saw that his gaze was going right through her, his face devoid of any expression. 'I … Edith, I am so tired, I cannot focus properly.' His left hand had closed around a knife and was approaching his right wrist slowly, cautiously.

With a yell, she knocked the knife out of his hand and spun. She saw nothing. Thomas sat still as if he had become a statue, his hand still curled as if he held the blade. 'I wasn't … I didn't plan to …'

'I know you weren't going to use that on me.' Despite his earlier request, Edith took his hand into both of hers. 'I think this was something very different.'

'I d… I don't even remember … Edith, what is going on?'

'I told you the house is haunted.' She swallowed and continued quietly. 'She wants you. She wants to kill you so you are together forever.'

Thomas's hand held on to hers firmly. 'No. There is no way she'll have me.'

'You may not have a choice.'

'Do you know any way to protect ourselves from a ghost?'

She laughed. It sounded desperate even to herself. 'The ones I've met so far wanted to help, not to murder.'

Thomas looked at his drawing. 'This chain is tricky. The rest is very simple. I can get the construct done in a few hours, the chain, though … Here's an idea.' He stood and grabbed a wooden box into which he threw a few tools. 'I cannot make this from scratch. I know how it can be made, but I still need a long chain to start with, and I happen to know where I can buy one that is bad enough for the links to lock easily. What do you say we grab what we need and go to the village? There's a place that's open all night. We can wait for the morning there.'

'What place is that? A brothel?'

Thomas laughed. It was brief but definitely there. 'No. A café, in fact, but I suspect that the upper floor is … well. What you said.'

'Thomas.'

'Well, you can also choose to light a fire on the street and sleep there, but I wouldn't recommend it.' He stuffed his hasty drawings and more paper into his box and carried it out. 'Did you sleep here before I came back?'

'Yes. But nothing like this happened to me.'

'At least she's no longer after you then, it seems. Still. I don't know if it's safe for you to stay here, now she's made her intentions clear. I'd prefer if you came with me. We'll come back when we have the braceable chain.'

Edith followed her suddenly energised husband down the stairs and into the master bedroom where he started throwing clothes into a suitcase. 'Braceable isn't even a word.'

'It is now.' He slammed the case shut and hoisted it up.

'Thomas Sharpe! Put that down at once.' He did, stunned. 'Are you allowed to carry that much after being stabbed? Give me that box.'

'You have a broken ankle. You carry yourself. That will be quite enough.' He picked his suitcase up again and took a few steps before he stopped. 'Ah … there's one small snag, though.'

'Finally.'

'I'm afraid I won't be able to pay for the chain. Or our stay.'

She rolled her eyes. 'Thomas. It's the middle of the night. If we walk out right now we may very well break our necks on the way. Or freeze to death, for that matter.'

He faltered. 'You're right.' When he faced her, his eyes were painfully helpless. 'Very well. I'll … have to keep myself awake.'

'We have to stick together, too. To stop her from getting you to hurt yourself.'

'It's so good to realise that I'm not just pointless. Apparently, I'm a liability, as well.'

Edith's heart ached at his words. 'You're not. You're just … vulnerable to her. You have been in her clutches all your life, and apparently she doesn't want to let you go. Come on.'

Meekly, he walked into the master bedroom with her again. He sat awkwardly on his side of the bed. 'I still think we should try and stay awake.'

Edith sat with her back against the wall. 'We will. And tomorrow we'll go and buy a chain.'

'So, what can a ghost do, exactly? Can they … I don't know, move things?'

Edith remembered a few of her encounters with them. 'Yes. But I don't know to what extent. This though, this is new. They never tried and made me do things.'

'Did you see her?'

'Tonight? No.'

'Implying that on another occasion you did.'

Edith nodded slowly. 'Yes. Twice. At her piano. Playing without moving the keys, lost in herself. She seemed harmless.'

Thomas shivered. 'Lucille was never harmless. That won't be changing.' He looked at her. 'We have to get rid of her.'

Without thinking, Edith reached out and ran a hand down Thomas's arm. 'I have a feeling we should discuss this another time. And away from here.'


	5. Virtue's Reward

_5\. Virtue's Reward_

Getting the chain wasn't a problem. Thomas felt a pang of guilt for having Edith pay for it when she didn't even know if she'd profit of her investment in any manner. Not that it was an amount of money that could hurt her. Also, he thought savagely, getting his paws on her money had been the plan anyway. He had no right to that sort of pride all of a sudden.

A careful nudge at the side brought him back to the present, their ascent back to Allerdale Hall. 'Where were you?'

'Hating myself,' he said. 'Edith, I always thought of you as an intelligent and sensible woman. I'm starting to doubt the latter. A sensible woman wouldn't be here with me, having this conversation.'

'Probably not.' She smiled slightly. 'A sensible woman would probably not have married you so soon to start with. And you're difficult to hate.'

'I can manage fine.'

'Don't. You've got a lot of good in you. If you didn't, I wouldn't be alive, and neither would Alan. You were just …'

'Weak.'

'Enthralled.'

'Trust a writer to find a good euphemism.' He saw the shift in her expression. 'What did I say?'

'Nothing. It's that … she burned my manuscript. All of it.'

'I … oh God. I am so sorry.'

She smiled slightly. 'So that wasn't all pretence.'

'No.' He became aware that he was fumbling with the chain, twisting it, trying to gauge how much it shortened by locking the links. Only it wasn't anything useful he was doing, just _anything_ other than facing what he'd done. 'Edith, I love you. I've loved you longer than you can possibly believe. Way before the depot. And I loved your writing the moment I saw it. You _know_ that. I had no idea who you were when I said so.'

'That is hard to argue against.' She was still smiling, but it had become sad. 'I waited for you. When you told me I could leave. I waited by the elevator.'

'And I never came back for you.'

'I'd been scared beyond words. But when I realised you must be dead I got just … wild beyond reason. I can't even tell you. I couldn't feel the pain in my ankle, just this anger, as if I was driven by some outward force.'

'I'd call that a survival instinct.'

'Partly. Also … it seemed so unfair. You'd finally chosen to own up to what had happened and …'

'And failed when I was face to face with Lucille.' His hand clenched around the metal in his hand so hard his knuckles stood out white as bone. 'I am no hero. I saw her injured and failed to do what I'd known I'd have to do. Still wanted to get us all out of this alive. She had no such qualms, of course. She was furious that I didn't plan to leave you behind. Couldn't bear the thought of me loving you. I should have known this. I _did_ know this, but I failed anyway and nearly got you killed after all.'

'You could have easily kept that bit from me. I admire your honesty.'

'I can't keep lying to you. I want you to know what you're getting yourself into.'

'That makes you braver than you realise.' She shuddered. 'How do we make sure that Lucille doesn't get you?'

'I've been thinking about that. You know, I think she had only one shot. Because I know what she wants to do now. I noticed that I suddenly felt extremely tired and dizzy. Next time, I'll be on my guard when that happens.'

'That is an incredibly dangerous course you're suggesting.'

'Edith.' He let go of the chain he'd curled loosely around his neck and took her hands. 'Edith, I need to prove to myself if not to you that I am not a complete waste of human life. That I can do something on my own.'

'Let me at least stay near you. Please.'

Thomas smiled at her, unable to stop himself. 'Gladly.'

Ϡ

Being Carter Cushing's daughter, Edith was intimately familiar with various constructs. But the things Thomas's mind came up with were always different. A pulley should be a pretty straight forward thing, and at first sight, it was. But he had made modifications to the chain, link by link, with precision and absolute focus. What they were supposed to do was beyond her until he showed her how he turned a small crank, and the chain shifted, locking the links together to form a stiff rod.

He looked at his creation with detachment before locking his gaze on Edith's. 'Now let's see what that does for us.' He brought it down to the mine and lowered it into the first vat before he turned the crank. He adjusted another wheel that shifted the position of the upper part of the contraption, moving chain and hook deep in the vat, searching for purchase. He paled suddenly and simultaneously turned the crank back and started pulling up the chain with a larger winder. 'I've got something,' he said quietly.

Edith watched the chain, red with wet clay, snake its way up, dripping where it wrapped around itself in a coil. And up came a skeleton. Red as the ghosts that had frightened her at first, stained by its time in the clay, stripped of skin and flesh. Thomas's face was a rigid mask as he lowered it to the ground. 'Do you need a name and a story with it, or will that do?'

'It will do.' Edith barely recognised her voice.

Thomas's eyes closed in a tortured expression. 'This is not your fault. I am so sorry.'

'I know it's hard.'

'I'll try if there's more in here.'

There was not. Nor was there in the next two vats they tried. Thomas had gone deathly pale with each failed attempt and she decided to put a stop to this. 'It's getting late, Thomas. Let's go up.'

'I want this to be over with.'

Edith put a hand on his shoulder. 'I know. But I want you to be able to defend yourself, and you look so horrified, right now, that I'm afraid for you. You've done enough today.'

Thomas looked at the heap of bones they had brought up first. 'Not enough. It will never be enough.' He lowered his voice. 'Pamela. She was in a wheelchair after an accident. Lucille lost her patience with the poison and strangled her when I was out of the house.'

Edith remembered vividly how a ghost, unable to walk, had crawled towards her, a rope from its neck. Gently, she guided Thomas away. It truly was enough for one day.

* * *

 _((The chapter heading is, of course, a play on Samuel Richardson's (horribly pretentious) novel_ Pamela; or, Virtue Rewarded _. I am quite aware that this is evil, but I can't think of anything else.))_


	6. Once Almost a Treasure

_6\. Once Almost a Treasure_

At first, Thomas was very certain that he wouldn't close his eyes for a minute that night. He was upset – mostly with himself. He'd snapped at Edith, even though he knew that she wasn't making him do this just to torture him. Her entire attitude towards him made it clear that she wanted him to be all right. If that meant she'd stay he wasn't sure and he refused to consider it. If she had any reason, she'd leave him, and Thomas mentally prepared himself for just that. That way, any surprise could only be a pleasant one. He'd certainly take it.

There was also the fact that all of a sudden he realised how horrid this all was. He didn't feel particularly bad about their mother. He'd had nothing to do with that, having been a mere witness, and he had no pity for her. But the other three women hadn't done any harm ever in their lives. They'd had nothing to lose, maybe, but that didn't make any of this right. Not by a long shot. If he was a man at all, he'd turn himself in. That last thought came in the voice of his father.

He shook himself as he lay stiffly on his back. Edith was next to him, judging by the rhythm of her breathing awake as well and lost in her own thoughts. He longed to turn to his side and pull her against him, let her warmth seep into him and just relish in the fact they were both alive and there. But of course, he couldn't.

He also wondered if falling asleep was wise. Out of the house, it had seemed sensible enough to want to stand up to Lucille's ghost. In here, he felt as if he were still little and getting a beating for something he couldn't even remember doing.

It was the time of night where he'd always slipped out of bed to go to Lucille's bedroom, to have her hands, her mouth, her entire body claim him as her own. When they were young, almost children, he had been so eager for her closeness. Even later. At some point, though, he'd ceased seeking her touch. It had never occurred to him to deny her, to look for love elsewhere, but that hadn't stopped his heart from making space for someone else, someone gentle and warm and strong. And now he doubted if what Lucille had felt had been love at all. At one time, it had been. But that was long ago, an emotion destroyed in the asylum and twisted into something horrible and predatory.

And next to him, Edith. Now sleeping lightly, peaceful. Cautiously, he turned to his side to watch her. He felt his own weariness take over. She was beautiful and pure. And yet, she didn't shy from the darkness lurking behind him, but made him face it, holding his hand all the while. It was hard not to have hope.

Thomas woke up what felt like minutes later. His entire front including his face was pressed into something warm, his body curled in on itself. He was also holding on to … Edith. Suddenly alert, he started to make plans to extricate himself from his position without alerting her when he noticed something else. She was caressing his hand. She was awake.

Resigned, Thomas shifted, but since he had apparently found it was a good idea to fold himself around her completely, Edith was resting on one of his arms so he couldn't sit up. 'I'm sorry,' he said.

'Why?'

He snorted. 'Because … well. It's inappropriate?'

Slowly, Edith turned in his embrace. 'Is it?'

He flushed under her serious scrutiny and pulled himself free. 'Yes. At this moment in time, it is. I just … I can't.'

'I'm making everything difficult for you,' she said softly.

Thomas shook his head. She had tolerated his touch earlier, so apparently she wasn't completely repulsed by the thought of him. Therefore, he dared to reach out and take her face into both hands. 'You are making everything bearable for me, Edith.' Feeling incredibly bold, he pressed his lips to her crown. 'I love you,' he breathed against her skin.

'Thomas, I …' He shifted his hands, placed a finger over her lips.

'Shh. Not this. Not until you know. Please.' He felt her nod and released her.

Edith swallowed. 'How about I make us breakfast?'

'I'd like that,' he said. And at the same time, he wished she wouldn't. This was so close to what he craved with all his heart that he feared what it would do to him if he lost it.

Ϡ

Edith sat bent over her ledger when she heard Thomas call her from the mines below. He hadn't said that he was going down, and she wondered why he had gone alone. She thought of how she had woken up with him spooning her. If he had wanted to make love to her then, she wouldn't have objected. With every day she spent with him, the thought to walk away when all was done became more absurd. Thomas loved her, there was no doubt about that. He wasn't going to hurt her. Sternly, Edith reminded herself that he had brought her the poisoned tea and betrayed her, but that thought no longer bred resentment or jealousy. Only grief at the memory of him shutting his eyes to it all and tolerating it.

She reached the mines and found Thomas standing by the vat. 'The body,' he said. 'This isn't where we left it.'

A chill crept down her spine as she stood next to her husband. Pamela's bones had lain under the pulley. Now they were directly next to the vat they had locked again. Her hand found his and squeezed. 'Well, it explains why she left us alone last night,' she said softly.

'Quite.' He licked his lips. 'Can ghosts fight? Each other, I mean. This is not normal.'

'None of this is normal.'

Above them, the door slammed shut with enough vehemence for the sound to carry down to them. She felt Thomas hold on to her more strongly. How different he was, compared to his dismissal when she had first spoken of their mother's ghost. She took a deep breath. 'I'll go up and see.'

'Be careful.'

'Always.' She hurried back to the elevator and up. In the entrance hall, she found Finlay on his way back out.

As he heard her, the old man smiled. 'Ah. Just wanted to see if you're well. The young master?'

'Is back home. But he's busy.' When she'd gone up, she'd seen him move the pulley to the next vat.

'Ah, good to hear.'

'Finlay, we have a request,' she said then. 'We need a cart and a horse to pull it down to the village. Soon, as long as the weather is holding like this. Also … please tell the Reverend in the village that we'll meet him one of these days. I don't know when we'll be ready, but it will be soon.'

If Finlay found these instructions at all odd, he didn't show it. 'Count on it, Lady Edith.' She watched him go with a wistful expression. Briefly, she contemplated going back down, but Thomas had gone alone to start with, so she decided to give him space. Instead, she'd clear out some of the stuff they would get rid of. Thomas had agreed that all the things on the right half of the ledger could go. The poison, he had thrown down the impassable side of the top of their rise the night he'd arrived. She had to start somewhere, so she decided to begin with some of the broken dishes. One day, they'd buy new things.

Edith smiled to herself at the thought. The part of her that thought ahead didn't even entertain the idea that she might leave.

Picking up a plate that was broken almost in half, she suddenly felt as if she was being watched. Edith put it down carefully and looked around herself, but she saw nothing. 'Finlay?' she asked tentatively. There was no answer. 'What is it? What do you want to tell me?' She closed her eyes, but of course no-one spoke to her.

But something else happened. She felt an intense need to go down to the mines. Frightened, Edith raced to the elevator. It carried her down at a glacial speed, taking even longer to finally spew her out into the corridor.

Thomas was sitting on the ground next to another body. His hands and clothes were stained red, forming a stark contrast to his sheet white face. _Clay, please, God, let it be clay._ One of his hands was clutching the hook of the pulley, and he was curled around something in his lap. 'Thomas!' His head jerked up and he released the hook. Edith skidded to a halt and let herself fall to her knees. His cheeks were wet. 'Thomas are you injured?'

He lifted his hand, trembling and bleeding. The hook had been buried in it. Edith couldn't quite contain her gasp. Thomas stared at her with puffy eyes. 'Regardless,' he choked out. 'I will _not_ follow. I will not.'

'Lucille? Did she try to …' He gave a single nod. 'Did you see her?' A jerky shake of his head. 'Thomas, what else happened? You look like death.'

Slowly he straightened. His entire front was red. And cradled to his body were the scarlet bones of an infant.


	7. Motion

_7\. Motion_

Later, Thomas had no idea how long he'd sat there. Eventually, Edith had lowered herself to the ground next to him, one arm around his back and her head against his shoulder, grounding him, giving him something to anchor himself to lest he went over the edge of the cliff he felt he was standing at. He put one arm around her to hold on, fully realising that he was smearing clay on her clothes and her hair but needing her too much to stop himself.

Eventually, he lowered the body of his son to the ground and let himself be steered to the elevator and up into the bathroom. His mind was slowly reassembling itself on the way. The boy hadn't been able to survive and death had been deliverance for the poor, tortured thing. A message from above that all that his and Lucille's wayward relationship could create was agony for all involved.

The past. It was all in the past while in the present Edith stripped him out of his shirt and cleaned the clay off his chest and his arms. A demeaning task for her. He stuttered back into action like a defective machine and plucked the cloth from her hands. He wanted to hide, feeling shame for what she had seen as well as the way he looked. The infection that had kept him in hospital had weakened him, and he hadn't yet recovered, he was too bony, little prettier than the skeletons in the vats. 'Don't,' he said. He took a corner of his shirt that was clean and continued her work.

She watched him, wide-eyed. 'Do you want me to leave?' she asked. Her face was a careful study of detachment. He was intimately familiar with that look from the mirror. She wasn't asking if he needed a moment. She was asking if he wanted her out of his life.

Thomas swallowed hard and glared at his hand. He turned on the faucet and let the water clean the wound. The water and the clay stung. He hissed. 'You should wash your hands, too. The clay, it's not good for the skin.' He gestured vaguely downwards. 'You've seen the bodies. They weren't skeletons when they were put in the vats. The clay feeds on flesh that is exposed to it for a long time. Not that it's going to strip the skin off your hands, but they could itch a bit for an hour or so.'

He shook his hand. The injury wasn't deep, but it was painful enough. It had helped, at the time, to keep Lucille out of his head, but now it was going to be a hindrance when he'd try and get the remaining bodies out. Two more. Just two more. He could do this. This wasn't getting any worse from here on out. When Edith made no move to clean her own hands, he took them and gently washed the clay off her. 'To answer your question,' he said then, 'the day I want you to leave is the day I know I'm no longer myself. You're all that's keeping me together right now.' Her lack of any reaction to that wasn't a good sign. But then, he hadn't graced her with an immediate answer, either.

'Do you need a doctor? Because the clay got into the wound.'

Thomas inspected it and found it sufficiently clean. 'No. It's not like it's toxic. Actually, it's a fine disinfectant.' He used his good hand to reach for her, intertwining their fingers. She didn't just let it happen but held on to him, too. Maybe that _was_ a good sign, but Thomas didn't allow himself to think so. 'Did you know …'

'About your son? Yes. Lucille told me.'

'I feared it would be the thing that tips the scale.' He continued so quietly she wouldn't have heard him if they hadn't been so close. 'To convince you to leave a man so vile to put a damaged child into his own sister.'

Edith extracted her hand from his and reached behind herself where she'd prepared bandages. Again. 'I think she told me almost everything. She didn't mean for me to survive anyway.'

'Maybe I should be on the right side of your ledger,' Thomas said, his voice still very quiet. 'Among the things too broken to fix.'

'You are not a thing. Nor are you broken.' Edith tied the bandage firmly and stood. Rather than walking out, however, she stepped close to him and ran a hand over his head. 'You should rest. This will be over soon and then we can finally move on from all the pain.' To his eternal surprise, she pressed her lips to his cheek and let them linger there for several heartbeats. His skin still tingled when he sat alone in the room. Finding the remains of his child had been horrible. And yet, he felt as if a weight of lead in his heart was being lifted. Closure. He could find closure. And then he could live.

Ϡ

A while later, Edith stood in the mine, soaked in red, and observed her work. Five skeletal bodies, pulled from the depths of the vats. Learning to work the strange pulley had been easy, given that she'd grown up around machines, and retrieving the last two bodies from their graves was tricky but doable. With any luck, the requested cart would be there soon and they could store the bones on it, cover it with a blanket, and leave it outside the grounds. Hopefully, that would ensure that they'd stay where they meant them to. And if they were even luckier, the road would stay clear enough to bring them down before the next snowstorm.

Thomas had been shaken by the discovery of the child, and Lucille must have pounced at once, deeming him defenceless. That she'd been wrong was testament to the fortitude Thomas didn't even realise he had. How they would take care of her was yet beyond Edith, but maybe the priest had an idea about that, too. It could hardly hurt to ask, but she'd warn Thomas about that plan. Exhausted, emotionally more than physically, she took the elevator up and changed into something clean. This was horrible work for her. For Thomas, it had to be worse. Apart from seeing to the dead, she had needed him to face what he'd been a part of. He'd done that and Edith couldn't watch him suffer any longer. He needed to heal, and she had done little to help him there. She had made up her mind. And it was about time she let him know that.

A loud thud echoed through the house when she was done. That wasn't a sound the house just made. Something had happened. Another thud. Coming from below. Edith practically flew down the stairs. She heard the next thud coming from the library. The sight that greeted her when she entered the room stopped her dead in mid-run: Thomas stood there, his face pale, a large axe in his hands. Before him, broken down to pieces, the piano. With a roar of pain and fury, he lifted the axe again and hacked it into the largest remaining chunk of wood. Edith saw blood staining the bandage on his hand when he adjusted his grip and decided to put an end to this. 'Thomas, that'll do as a message, I believe.'

He threw the tool onto the wood and turned to face her, panting heavily. 'I want her gone. I should thank her, actually. If she didn't torment me from the grave, I would grieve, but this … This!' He strode over to Edith and embraced her. 'You don't even think you can walk away from me because you feel somehow obliged to protect me.'

This was her doing. The result of her refusal to answer the question he hadn't asked. Her fault he was hurting himself. Edith pushed him away. Not much and not to hurt him further, only enough to meet his eyes. 'I am not here out of obligation, Thomas.' She took his hand. 'You're bleeding. You shouldn't be doing this.'

'I should be burning the house down.'

'I'd rather you didn't, since we don't really have another place. But if we're lucky we'll get a longer time away very soon.'

'How's that?'

'I requested a cart and a horse from Finlay. I suggest after seeing that the bodies are buried, we'll remain in the village until spring and come up with a plan. Surely, we can rent some place.'

'You can. I have nothing. I _am_ nothing.'

'You are my husband and I'm prepared to fight anyone who humiliates you. That includes you, too. What's mine is yours and what's yours is mine. The ghosts and the wealth both. We do this together.' She saw the flicker of hope in his face. He had once told her it was an emotion he stayed clear of, but maybe that, too was changing. He had every right to hope. Edith pulled his hand to her lips and kissed it. 'Come to bed, my dear Thomas. It's been a long day.'

Ϡ

That morning, when Thomas woke up with Edith in his arms, he didn't try and pull away. _Come to bed, my dear Thomas._ Her words echoed in his head and he buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply. She always smelled so sweet of roses and Edith. He felt her stir and opened his eyes to meet hers. 'Good morning,' he said softly. 'I'm starting to think the better I feel, the safer I am.' And vice versa, apparently, but with a bit of time to calm himself, he realised his discovery was something he should have expected. Thomas fixed his eyes on Edith, pushing the past away to where it belonged. Away from his mind, certainly away from their bed.

'Possible,' Edith said. 'She seems to attack when you're hurting.' She kissed him on the lips, chastely but long enough to be unmistakeably more than friendly. 'I'm still so tired.'

He brushed her hair out of her face. 'Stay a bit longer then. I'll go down and continue my work.'

There was an odd look on her face that Thomas couldn't quite read. 'Ah,' she said. 'That.' She took his hands and caressed them. 'There's something I forgot to mention yesterday. I'll tell you what a bit later. Do you think you could do something for me until then?'

'Anything, my darling heart.' He knew he was being soppy and didn't care one bit. He meant it. God, how he meant it.

'Do you think you could make breakfast for us?'

Thomas opened his mouth to agree when the full depth of her request struck him. He noticed too late that he was gaping at her, his expression apparently so ridiculous that she started laughing, even though she tried to suppress it. It didn't matter. Nothing else mattered.

His hands cradled Edith's head and he moved closer until his lips were on hers, first tentative, then bolder. He poured all he had into the kiss and Edith melted against him, the laughter gone. Her hands went under his shirt resting on his sides, and her lips parted, inviting him in, and the kiss became deep and sensual.

Reluctantly, Thomas pulled away for air. A thread of saliva connected his lower lip to hers and for once he wasn't put off by the thought but amused. 'You wait here,' he said, his voice almost cracking with emotion. He couldn't care less. When they'd been down in the village, they'd bought various interesting foods, among other things Cumberland sausage and dried damsons that he wanted her to try, even though he wasn't too fond of the former himself. 'I'll make you a breakfast worthy of a queen.'


	8. Après le déluge, nous

_((The expression is, of course,_ après nous, le déluge _. Here, it is turned around to translate to_ After the flood, us _.))_

* * *

 _8\. Après le déluge, nous_

With no money to afford servants, it was only logical that both Thomas and Lucille knew how to cook. And to be frank, he'd always been better at it. For her, it had been a chore, and it had tasted like that. He had liked reading recipes and had over times learned to alter them to his tastes. He'd enjoyed it, to a point, but never as much as this morning. He prepared as lavish a breakfast as their provisions allowed for the two of them, his heart dancing with joy. Before he could carry their plates up, Edith appeared in the doorway, smiling so warmly he thought it must be the harbinger of spring. They ate in a silence that, maybe for the first time since they'd arrived here, wasn't awkward but companionable. He watched her for signs of doubt or caution. Nothing. She trusted him. Edith trusted him. With that thought in mind, even getting corpses out of the viscous clay sounded bearable, even facing the body of his son. He could do this. He wasn't alone and he wouldn't be when this was over.

When he rose to go to the mine, Edith stopped him. 'It's done,' she told him. 'I brought up the last two bodies yesterday before you decided to murder the piano.'

For a moment, less than a second, Thomas feared that he'd been wrong. That she might trust him but that he had failed because she had been the one to fulfil his task. But that would have been Lucille's way of thinking. 'You didn't tell me earlier because you didn't want me to think I'd lost you.'

Edith nodded. She walked towards him and put her arms around him. 'Now I can say it. I love you, Thomas. So much.'

He held her tighter but remained silent. If he talked, he'd end up sobbing in her shoulder and he wanted to avoid that. It was enough that she had seen him reduced to tears the day before.

Edith pulled away, kissing him softly. 'We need to pack for a while. I want to be able to leave at once when Finlay comes.'

The packing included clothes for them both, but also putting the bones into large jute bags. Finlay had no idea of what had happened in Allerdale Hall, and he didn't need to find out now.

They managed just in time. The sky was growing dark even though it was early, threatening snow, when Finlay came up walking next to a horse that pulled a cart. He helped loading the bags onto the cart without asking about their contents and together, they set out down. Thomas glanced behind himself and felt a grim satisfaction. Lucille had never liked being alone, had hated it when Thomas travelled as much as he had flourished every time he could leave the house. And her. His hand found Edith's as they walked in silence. Something was changing. _He_ was changing. Into a man that could think of Lucille without aching, but also without hatred or anger. He had thought he'd become the most he could be when he'd returned to the house. But apparently, he wasn't quite done growing out of his restraints. What he would be at the end, he wasn't certain. But now he was confident that whatever it was, Edith would love him then as much as she had back before this entire mess, as much as she did now.

Ϡ

'You have a cart full of … _what_? And I am to … do what?' Reverend Cirhan's accent was heavy with emotion. 'With all due respect, Sir Thomas. This is hardly proper procedure.' His expression and tone said clearly that he considered every bit of respect too much in their case.

Thomas raised his arms. 'Then consult Doctor Pilgrim and follow whatever procedure is needed. He knows of the bodies and Edith has given a statement. Even I had a talk with some inspector when I was still in hospital. It's all been said and the only thing these women need is a burial. Please.'

'And you know who these people were?'

'Yes,' Edith said. 'The information you need is in this envelope. Look, Reverend. They were kept up in the manor, and they haven't found rest. Maybe if they're buried, they will.'

The Reverend's gaze travelled between her and Thomas. 'Haven't found rest? Are you telling me that Allerdale Hall is haunted?'

'Precisely.' They'd spoken together and Edith had to stop herself from grinning. It wouldn't help their cause.

'Are you sure? In my experience, hauntings have other causes, most of the time. They may range from the simple fact that an old house creates sounds, to intruders, to mental illness.'

Edith felt a surge of anger. 'Thomas and I are not mad. We wouldn't be here talking to you about this if we weren't certain.'

'And besides that,' Thomas said, 'these people should be buried. I think by your profession alone you should agree that the victims of a violent crime can do with a final blessing.'

The Reverend ran a hand over his bald head. 'Very well. It's not like there haven't been rumours. Leave them to me. I'll call you when I'm ready.'

'There is something else,' Edith said. 'Another spirit. We need to get rid of it, but it's not a victim. I mean …'

Thomas put an arm around her waist. 'No. Definitely not a victim. The murderer. My sister. I'm sure you heard that, too.'

Reverend Cirhan's gaze darted to the jute bags and back to them. 'Look. I'm hardly an expert, I'm not even sure I believe this at all. Truth be told, if it were only you, Sir Thomas, I'd wonder if maybe what was wrong with Lucille runs in the family, but your wife isn't related and seems to believe this hogwash as well. While I don't like sending you to the competition, you might want to ask that Catholic. Father Christopher. Him or that crazy Irish woman. Deirdre. They've both dealt with such matters in the past, or so they say, maybe they are more accommodating.' During his speech, the Reverend had ushered them out of his yard. 'Now leave. I've wasted enough time on the both of you.'

Thomas wasn't cowed. 'The witch?' he asked. 'She still lives?' Thomas shrugged at Edith's frown. 'She was already old when I was little. An Irish woman with a lot of knowledge about herbs and such. And of course, everyone calls that woman a witch. Do you mean she actually is one, Reverend?'

Cirhan looked deeply disgusted, whether by Thomas or by the thought of a witch, Edith wasn't sure. Probably both. 'Sir Thomas, I mean nothing at all. Except that if you believe that your house is haunted, you may want to turn to someone who is more likely to believe that than that you are simply not quite right in the head.'

'Father Christopher, then,' Thomas decided. 'Deirdre is creepy.' He shuddered in the cold. 'Can we rent a room somewhere? We won't be going back up.'

'By the looks of the weather, you won't be going up for the rest of winter.' Cirhan huffed. 'You know the café at the corner?'

'Yes. I know it. We're not staying there.'

'Don't grin like that, young man, I'm not suggesting that you drag your wife into that pit of sin. But across from it, there's Madam Tate's house. She's an old widow who owns at least two more small cottages. If you're lucky, you can rent one for the time being.'

Edith looked at Thomas. His gaze went into the black of night, in the direction of Allerdale Hall. He looked back at her and gave a mixture of a nod and a shrug. Edith licked her lips. 'Do you reckon that she'd sell one of them?'

The Reverend's eyebrows rose. 'You would have to ask her that.' He rubbed the bridge of his nose and fumbled with the envelope. 'So. You have five bodies?'

'Bones. Don't be startled, they were submerged in liquid clay and they look the part. Of four adult women. Their names are in there with descriptions how you recognise them by their injuries. And a child. An infant.'

Reverend Cirhan swallowed. 'An infant. Whose?'

'Lucille's,' Thomas said quietly. 'And no, she wasn't married.'

The Reverend opened his mouth, but Edith was faster. 'One of the women, Enola, she realised the child was dying and performed an emergency baptism. You can bury him.'

Cirhan's expression spoke volumes. He didn't believe a word and Thomas's reaction told a story of its own. His look was one of gratitude and shock at once. The truth was, she had thought about this on the way. And the Reverend couldn't prove her wrong. He knew that, too, of course. 'I see. Very well. You can leave now. I'll take care of them. Don't wait for a message from me. I believe these dead can take their final journey well enough without you.'


	9. Before the Storm

_((Guillermo del Toro has graced us with bios of the characters, and I have drawn from them I believe twice before, if only in passing. In this chapter, I do it more heavily. A lot of what I put into Thomas's thoughts here about himself and about Lucille is Word of God.))_

* * *

 _9\. Before the Storm_

It was almost like a second honeymoon. Or rather, an actual one, the way it was meant to be. Back then, Thomas hadn't touched Edith. They hadn't even slept in the same room. He had still been so entangled in the web woven in his childhood, he had felt guilty of every tender look he gave Edith. The problem had been, even then, that he had meant them. He'd been taken with her from the start. He had ditched his plans to woo Eunice for no other reason than that. He had, of course, not thought that through, but with every day in her company her brilliance, her wit, her sheer strength of will had pulled him in closer and closer without him even noticing. He remembered their dance. He had felt the slight tremor in her hand as she touched his, had seen the contrasting steadiness of her gaze, drowning him. He'd entertained the irrational thought that this woman would be either his death or his salvation. She had almost been both at once, and he'd only narrowly avoided the former.

Now he could touch her, and unlike their first time, he did it without guilt or regret. There was only the two of them, as close as two human beings could be, breathing the same air, joined in body and soul. Bringing a warmth to their temporary home that no fire could offer.

Winter in Cumbria was a harsh affair – even though this one was remarkably mild – but the cottage they'd rented offered protection from the storms, and it was small enough to be heated quite thoroughly by the fireplace. Thomas was fully aware that a huge manor had its downsides. He could get used to this. With delight, he noticed that Edith started writing again. He wondered if she had an older version of her novel left somewhere or if she had to start from scratch. He refrained from asking for now. He knew the kind of frustration that came with creating something and losing all of it.

Some evenings, they discussed which of the two people the Reverend had suggested they would approach. Some evenings, they sat together reading on the hearthrug, backs against the loveseat and one of Edith's legs crossed over his. Some evenings, they danced, sometimes slow, lost in kisses and a close embrace, sometimes crazily wild as if they had the devil in them. Some evenings they talked about the future. Their future. For that was no longer a question. Edith was here. With him. And she wasn't going anywhere except with him.

Thomas remembered the first time she had come to his workshop. He had almost done it then, made love to her on his desk, unable to resist any longer, to deny what he felt deep in his heart. If Lucille had caught them, it would all have gone faster. Maybe better, but he'd never know that. Probably, though. She'd been so much healthier and stronger then. It had been a close call. One more day of that horrible poison and nothing could have saved her. He'd seen it often enough to know that much. It was a miracle that Edith was alive. Even more that she saw in him someone worthy of her love.

That day, he had told her she was different. And she was. Thomas had learned the art of love from those books in the library and experience, he knew how to pleasure a woman, knew what they wanted. Or he thought that.

Polite society thought women didn't enjoy the act of making love, nor would they demand it. He knew that was not the case, because Lucille had demanded. So he had never entered this beautiful new adventure that would last the rest of his life believing that Edith would participate in his advances as a silent sufferer because it was her duty. He had felt her passion before, in the workshop, in the depot. Women could do desire just as well as men, and it excited him immensely that he should be able to inspire that sort of feeling in her.

He had made another error, however, in believing that what Lucille liked was universal. Lucille had controlled him, used him. Edith enjoyed him, thoroughly, sometimes guiding, sometimes being guided. Lucille had wanted it in the dark; had never, after they'd been caught, been fully naked, nor had she wanted him that way. And everything had been ritualistic. Now Edith … Edith was creative and impulsive in her love for him, and sometimes she couldn't look her fill, staring at him as if he were the statue of a Greek God rather than a still too thin English aristocrat with more issues than he'd ever been aware of. She wanted to see him. All of him. And she let him see her. When they made love now, there was nothing between them, no clothes hiding either of them, and while Thomas still struggled to understand why she actually enjoyed it when he lost himself and moaned into her ear like some wild creature, he learned to just stop _thinking_ so much. He also stopped covering himself immediately after, and a little while ago, he'd decided there was no point that either of them dress for sleep at all. They snuggled under the covers and held on to each other, skin to skin, and the world couldn't have been any more perfect than when he had her near him like that, feeling the life in her, that incredible strength of his amazing wife.

And in this beautiful and novel daily routine of theirs, another tradition had emerged. Every morning, without failure, Thomas made them breakfast. Sometimes just bread and butter and honey, sometimes, if they planned to spend the day out in the cold, something opulent, but always prepared or made by him. And every day, when she ate it with gusto, he fell in love with her all over again.

If it was all the same to God, winter could stay all year. As long as it was winter, he didn't have to face Lucille. As long as it was winter, he had not a single thing to worry about. Edith was the one that kept them warm and fed with her funds, but even that didn't matter.

Another thing that was different between the two women in his life was Edith's silence when she was struggling. Lucille had always been outspoken about his shortcomings. Now, as the winter was slowly giving way to the first few warmer sunrays, he noted for the second time that Edith was … quiet. And since she was no more forthcoming than the first time, he decided to put his foot down, if gently. She didn't need to bear whatever worried her on her own, even though she was strong enough to do it.

He'd given her until the evening, watching her go about the day with her shoulders slumped ever so slightly. He'd even dared to ask what was wrong a bit earlier. She'd barked at him before hugging him tightly and apologising more profusely than he found necessary. When they lay in bed, the darkness complete in a moonless night, he turned to her, his head propped up. He couldn't see her, but he did it anyway. 'Edith. Won't you talk to me?'

At first, she remained silent, and he was about to resign. But then she faced him and curled into his chest. 'It's probably stupid,' she said.

Thomas rubbed circles into her bare shoulder. 'There's a good chance I'll disagree, but I'd have to know a bit more, first.'

'I mean … We've been here for almost three months. Haven't we? And we have … we've made love, well, often. I've stopped counting.'

And it dawned on him. He had to admit, he had wondered in passing if he should bring up that they might want to be more cautious. But he hadn't, and now he thought about it, he understood. 'You think we can't have children.'

'I don't know. I just know that I'm not pregnant.'

For a while, Thomas just held her, wording his response in his head. He didn't want to sound as if he didn't care, because he did. He also didn't want her to doubt what took priority. 'The Sharpe name is a bit overrated anyway,' was what came out of his mouth. He winced at his own words, but his inelegance had a good effect. Edith chuckled softly. 'Let me try that again: Don't think that I wouldn't like the idea. I would. But if this is not to be, I don't want you to think that makes you any less of a dream come true. You are my life. Do you hear me?'

'I hear you.'

He swallowed. 'You may want to blame me, if it truly will not work. The poison or your fall … God knows what that did to you.'

'Neither of which was your doing. I remember you screaming at Lucille not to do it.'

He held her tighter, remembering with horror how she had crashed into the railing below her with a sickening crack and he'd thought she must be dead, all lost, all hope lifeless on the snowy ground. But she was _not_. She was warm and alive and right here with him. He pushed the thought firmly away. That, too was becoming easier: to stay with her, in the present. 'You were worried about this. What I'd say.'

'I didn't expect you to kick me out if I couldn't bear you an heir, it's not that. I just feared that you'd be disappointed.'

Thomas shook his head, but of course, she couldn't see that. 'No scenario that has you by my side could disappoint me. Ever. I hope you believe that.'

Edith shifted in his grasp, kissing the corner of his mouth. 'I do. Thank you, Thomas. For quelling my fears. Sweet dreams, my love.'

He smiled into the night. 'See you there, beautiful soul.'


	10. Protected by Faith

_10\. Protected by Faith_

On the way up to Allerdale Hall, Edith wondered why she was so worried about involving someone in their problem. Father Christopher had taken them very seriously. He had, he told them, performed exorcisms before and would gladly do it for them. So he took them up to the manor in his carriage, the ascent eased by the almost molten snow. Only up on top some was left, but most of it was stark red. Thomas claimed that over time the grass would return and the world would stop looking like it had been drowned in blood.

'So,' the Father said when they drew close. 'You will need to leave this spirit to me. It would be best if you waited outside. Do not let any odd sounds disturb you.'

'We're used to odd sounds,' Edith said. She watched the man. He didn't look like much, but that didn't need to say anything. He was relatively tall and almost as broad and had an extremely round and rather red face.

'How long have you lived with this demon?' he asked.

Thomas snorted. It was entirely humourless and strained. 'Thirty-four years.'

The Father looked shocked. 'But that is a dangerously long period. Are you certain that it had no influence over you?'

'It did not,' Edith said before Thomas could answer. 'My husband wasn't serious. This ghost is a recent acquisition.'

'You need to disclose the facts to me,' was the gentle reprimand.

'We are,' Thomas amended. 'The ghost's been here only a few months, and we've been down in the village for most of that time. We know it wants to influence me, but so far, it hasn't succeeded. Not much.'

'What does it want you to do?'

'To kill myself,' Thomas answered.

'Ah. Yes. Some of the beings from hell will do this. Remember the Gerasene demoniac.'

'Sadly, I do not have swine,' Thomas said drily.

'Do not worry, Sir Thomas. I shall free you of the evil spirit. You need to wait outside, I cannot emphasise this enough.'

Edith frowned slightly. 'And how long? I mean, what do we do if you don't come back by nightfall?'

'By nightfall,' the Father scoffed. 'I may require a couple of hours, but no more than that. Do not concern yourselves.'

Edith watched him enter the house, wondering again if this had been a good idea. Thomas didn't look any happier than she felt. He folded his arms and shivered despite his warm coat. 'I don't like the idea of leaving anyone alone with her,' he confessed.

'What do you suggest?'

He shook his head. 'What else can we do? We wait. He's done this before. Right?'

'Right.' Edith leaned into Thomas. 'Also, she's just a ghost, and he is a man of God. What's the worst that can happen?' They waited.

Ϡ

Edith was increasingly restless. Thomas stood stock still with his back against his machine. He looked for all the world as if he had turned to stone. Maybe this ability was a requirement of English aristocracy, but it was something she couldn't do. So she walked around the house, walked the perimeter of the grounds, looked at the array of machinery and registered that the infamous clay harvester wasn't the only thing here. If Thomas still meant to reopen his mine, they would produce tiles and bricks right here. It was all there.

When she returned to him, she saw his smile. 'What?' she asked.

'You have no idea what is yours, do you?'

'I don't … what?'

Thomas offered his arm. 'Walk with me, fair maiden.'

Pulling herself up to her full height, Edith attached herself to his arm. 'Why, Sir Thomas. I do hope you have no designs on my virtue.'

'Oh, never worry.' He bent down to whisper in her ear. 'I would know the perfect place for such an endeavour, but of course, not at this time of year. I would embarrass myself in this cold.' Edith laughed and let herself be led away behind the house. 'You see,' Thomas said, 'the grounds begin where the gate is. On the other side, you'll notice the lack of any fencing. That is because the end of this nice flat part of hill is not the end of the grounds. There is a path, but it's not safe right now. Nothing that can't be handled when the weather is stable.' He pointed down the slope. There was something that might be a path. 'And no,' Thomas said, 'this isn't where I threw the poison.'

'I wasn't going to ask you that!'

'Why not?'

'It doesn't matter.' Edith nudged him. 'Thomas, stop it. Stop hurting yourself.'

He looked at her with this gentle, earnest expression that had taken her breath away from the moment she'd met him. 'I'll try.' He put his arm around her waist and walked her to the edge. 'If you look carefully, there, in that direction, you'll see a small river. It's in the wood, and when the trees are green you can't see it. Now you see it as a thin white line. At least if you know where it is. That's where our grounds end. And there, ah … it's hard to describe now, it's easier when there's more than a frozen wasteland. Anyway, in that little forest, there's a clearing with a large flat stone, right by the river. It's very beautiful. And if I were to plan to seduce you, this is where I'd do it.' Gently, he steered Edith back to the entrance. 'It used to be more, but we had to sell a lot of land. What we're left with is a patch of forest that is so inaccessible that it has no practical use whatsoever.'

'And the mines.'

'And the mines,' Thomas echoed. 'The mines. What should I do, Edith?'

They'd been through this. Several times. It was time for a less theoretical angle. 'Well. You could reopen them now, couldn't you? I've written to Ferguson that I'm signing over my money. Again. It's not like I'm going back anyway.'

'Out of the top of my head, I can tell you at least fifty reasons why this sounds very, very wrong.'

'You need the money if you want to do this.'

'That's just one item on the list. I don't know what I want.' He halted and stared at the harvester. 'Lucille was the one who never wanted to leave. Deep down, I wanted to get as far away as possible. Only I put so much into this that it's hard to let go now.' He looked back at Edith. 'Also with the fact that soon enough, she will be gone for good, the prospect of staying here doesn't sound quite as dire as it used to. Still dire, though, if I think about the state of the house.'

'It's your call, Thomas. Your project, you need to know if you want to abandon that.'

'You get a say in this, Edith. You're the one who can fund it, not me.'

'Thomas, I believe in you. I believed in you all the time. So yes, I'll help you. But I'll also help you if you say, damn this all to blazes, I'm off.'

Thomas took her shoulders and gave her a long, intense look. 'Don't you want to run away as fast as you can? Do you really see yourself living in a house where you were almost murdered?'

'Truth? I just don't want her to win. I would love for you to see this through, not by destroying others but by accepting help lovingly given. It would be wonderful for your life's work to be a success. It would be just as wonderful to walk away with you and leave all this behind. I don't care which. I really don't. The only thing I want is for you to be happy, but you can only find that in yourself. Not in the mines, not by running, and not through me. With me, yes, always, but it needs to come from yourself.'

Thomas chuckled. 'As usually, you are right. About everything. Then I'll have to make up my mind, don't I?' He frowned. 'Now how long does this take, do you think? You don't, by any chance, have experience with exorcisms?'

'Sorry. None. But he's been a while.'

'Did you hear anything? I sure didn't. From the way he talked, I expected to hear the most gruesome sounds. I don't like this one bit.'

'Me neither. Do you think we should look?'

Thomas lowered his voice. 'I mean, we could just sneak in and out again. Just take a peek to make sure everything's fine.'

'Yes. That's so mature, sneaking after people. Let's do that.'

Thomas grinned at her. 'I love it when you're crazy with me.' He sobered when he faced the entrance. 'Hush now. If he catches us, he'll be angry.'

Ϡ

The moment they stepped through the door, they locked eyes. Edith pointed to the library. It was as good a place as any. The priest hadn't asked anywhere near as many questions as she had expected, hadn't wanted to know who they thought the spirit was or why it wasn't just moving on to … wherever. But then again, she really had no knowledge about exorcisms.

The house was exceptionally silent. No creaks or groans, and the only shadows were them.

The library was deserted, the ruined remains of the piano still in the room. They'd left so abruptly, taking care only of what was necessary, that it had stayed behind. Edith gave the upper level a cursory glance and met Thomas back down at the bottom after he'd looked around there. Back in the corridor, he pointed at her and the kitchen and at himself and the back of the house. She nodded and crept on, wondering what on earth an exorcist would be doing in something as mundane as a kitchen.

'Edith!'

Thomas's voice was loud but clipped. Something was horribly wrong. She ran out and almost into him as he was walking backwards from the elevator. 'Thomas, what happened?' Her question came in a whisper, pointless after he had shouted loudly enough to be heard up to the attic.

He turned and looked at her, his face devoid of expression. 'I am a dead man. Edith, he … this can't be happening.'

Edith walked past her husband, keeping a hand on him and leading him with her. The elevator was stuck between their floor and the one below. The sliding door of the cage had been open, and between its roof and the ground the priest was caught by the neck. His face was purple, his eyes bulging – the unseeing stare of a clearly dead man. 'Oh dear God,' Edith managed. Thomas reached for the button, but she caught his hand in time. 'Don't touch it! Don't touch a thing.'

'Edith, it doesn't matter.' He backed away again, unable to tear his gaze from the dead face, into the wall behind him and slid down until he sat with a thud. 'You could protect me so far, but even then it was a close call. This time, there was no-one else here and now they'll look at the other murders again, too. They have to find me guilty, at least as an accessory. I am going to hang. You will be a widow.' His voice was composed and quiet, frightening her more than if he had screamed. And the image his words conjured, her Thomas on a noose … gone, taken from her … Thomas got to his feet, his eyes distant. 'I mean, I deserve it. But the disgrace for you … I should do it for them.' His words were barely audible as he started walking off.

Edith stepped in front of him and stopped him with her hands on his chest. 'Thomas, I'm going to hit you if you don't snap out of it.'

He blinked at her, slowly. 'Edith, I have to spare you …'

'This is her. She's making you. Fight her! You can, Thomas, I believe in you. I told you.'

Thomas's expression didn't change. 'I've got to get out of this house,' he said. His pace suddenly brisk, he fled until he was back at the carriage. He put his hands on it and panted as if he had run for miles. 'How?' he asked. 'How is she doing this?'

Edith shrugged. 'I suppose if we knew that, we wouldn't need help.' She put her hand on the back of his neck and massaged him gently. 'You are stronger than her. You just have to believe it. And you will not hang. There is no way you could have done this.'

He closed his eyes for a moment, steadying himself. 'You're right. I'd have needed to be in the elevator with him and I wouldn't be able to get out with it stuck there. I'd have had to take the elevator back up, hold him by the head and simultaneously send the elevator back down. That thing doesn't play such tricks. And given his physique, I wouldn't even have the kind of strength needed, even if _you_ went down and called the elevator while I held him.' He faltered. 'All right. I'll stop rambling. Now.'

'Your rambling makes more sense than anything you said earlier. The witnesses to what happened before were mainly me, and to a point Alan. And both Alan and I told the investigator that you tried to keep him and me alive, that you tried so hard you were almost murdered yourself. You were cleared before there even were charges.' She caressed his cheek with her knuckles, lingering on the scar under his eye. Visible, always, even now that the wound was fully healed. 'Come now. We've got to get down before nightfall.'

'Can we even ask anyone else to risk coming here?'

Edith growled. 'Oh, yes. We can and we must. But we won't let that Deirdre person out of sight for a second, no matter what she says.'

* * *

 _((I didn't want that priest to die. Honest. I wanted him to run away. I blame Verdi, whose Requiem is my choir's next project and I've been hearing that on loop for the past two days._

 _Since people are actually reading this (thank you so much for letting me know, for leaving feedback … I dig it!), I'd like to say that I have now caught up with myself. This chapter is the latest one I've written. While I will continue tomorrow – I know where I'm going, really, so it won't be forever – I cannot promise that I'll manage daily updates from here on out. Regular, of course, but maybe not daily.))_


	11. Wise Old Eyes

_11\. Wise Old Eyes_

Before they could go to anyone else for help, they had to report what Edith decided to call an accident. She insisted that they went to Doctor Pilgrim first, not because she believed that he could by some miracle save Father Christopher, but because he was more likely to listen. In the end, he told them to stay in the village while he went back up to the manor with the police. He visited them the next day, looking exhausted. Until his arrival, Thomas couldn't quite get rid of the mental image Lucille had created in him. He didn't want to die. To a point, he believed that he deserved a death sentence, but he was definitely not prepared to go. He had been, before. He hadn't expected his sister to stab him, but she had planted the conviction that he would be killed for his participation in her crimes so firmly in his head that nothing else had seemed possible if their secret should ever come to the light. Of course, the only thing that had stopped this from happening were Edith and apparently Alan's account of what had happened. Edith. His salvation indeed. She had saved his soul and his life.

Doctor Pilgrim had barely hung his coat when he inspected Thomas closely. 'You don't look good,' he said. 'Are you quite well?'

Thomas waved him away. This wasn't something a physician could heal. 'As well as is to be expected. Please, tell us. If I am to be sentenced to die, I fully intend to run away.'

'Maybe telling me that isn't wise.'

'I'm not telling you where I'd run.'

'And you?' Pilgrim asked, looking at Edith. 'Would you run with your husband?'

She stood close to Thomas, one hand on his back. 'Yes.'

Pilgrim shook his head. 'Thought so. Well, there won't be a need. You couldn't have killed him with that elevator.'

'No. I couldn't.'

'You do realise that you're lucky he died the way he did. If he'd had an accident that wasn't impossible to fabricate, you would be very likely to go to the gallows.'

Thomas's face felt cold. Edith's touch was the only thing that kept him somewhat composed. 'I find it difficult to consider myself lucky. Someone died in my home. You'd think I should be used to it, but I'm not. And no matter how clearly innocent I am to the police this time, this isn't looking good at all.'

Pilgrim chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. 'It's not. But here's the thing. Father Christopher was known as an eccentric fellow. He was so convinced that demonic possession was a true threat that people half expected him to meet a gruesome end by finally invoking the monsters he tried to expel. If it had been anyone else, they'd talk more about you than the victim, but as it is … you are lucky indeed. But of course, your very name inspires caution.'

Thomas remembered his father screaming at a worker for wanting help for injured children – injured in the mines his father had owned – and for speaking dialect, of all things. As if he'd been better than these men. 'Small wonder,' was the answer Thomas finally came up with. 'I am not my father, Doctor.'

'Indeed you're not. And as for the priest … I have no idea what possessed him to stick his head out of a moving elevator.' Pilgrim frowned. 'So I simply wanted to tell you that the police might want a statement from you what the priest was doing in the manor, but you're in no danger to be found guilty of anything. I'm still not sure if I like you, Sir Thomas, and veering towards no. But it looks like your wife does, and she seems reasonable.' Pilgrim put his coat back on. 'Take care of that house of yours. It feels … wrong. I am a scientist, but I'll have you know I felt watched. I wanted nothing more than to get out again as soon as I set foot in it.'

'We're on it.'

'Very well.' Pilgrim walked back to the door. 'Good evening.'

Ϡ

Edith had expected a rumoured witch to live in the outskirts of the village, maybe even half in a forest, but certainly not on the main square in a perfectly normal house. Her sense of normalcy vanished quickly when Thomas raised his hand to knock the door but never got to do so because it opened a few inches before he could touch it. An ancient head appeared and glared at them. 'You are late.'

They looked at each other. 'I-I'm sorry, I …' Thomas faltered. The door was opened fully and they were ushered inside.

Deirdre laughed. 'You couldn't keep your hands off each other and left later than you meant to. Tea?'

'Yes, please,' Thomas said, his face flushed.

'Thank you, I'll pass,' Edith said at the same time. Deirdre scuttled away, leaving them standing in her living room. 'Did you tell her we're coming?'

Thomas shook his head. 'No. Maybe the Reverend did, but he couldn't know when we'd come. How does she know that we …'

Edith shrugged. 'Well.' She tucked a few strands of his hair into place. 'You're a bit ruffled, but it's windy. I don't even want to know.' She took the time to look around. The fireplace was cold despite the still very low temperatures, but every surface was clean. The entire room was incredibly tidy. Soon enough, Deirdre reappeared with a tray and two cups of tea. 'Sit, sit, it costs the same.' She looked at Edith. 'You're not getting any,' she told her as if that was her punishment. For what, she wasn't sure. 'I'll have a small cup myself, but you, boy should drink your fill. So. What brings you to the witch?'

Thomas accepted his cup with a nod of thanks. 'I don't believe you're a witch.'

'Ask the boys in the village. They shout it all the time.'

'Ma'am …'

'Deirdre will do. Ma'am makes me sound old.' She cackled, and Edith found that she understood why children would call her a witch.

'Deirdre,' Thomas said, 'we need help, and as far as I know, you're the only person who can offer it.'

'You asked the priest first, didn't you? He's dead now, stupid brat. I don't plan to share his fate.'

Thomas took a sip of his tea. Edith could see him struggle to keep his expression even. She wanted to knock the cup out of his hand but refrained. 'Nor would I want you to,' Thomas said. 'We have a problem. Allerdale Hall is haunted.'

'I bet it is. What kind of ghost is it?'

Edith blinked. 'There's more than one sort?'

Deirdre's eyes bored into hers. 'I thought you would know this. Wait here.' She left them again, and Edith snatched the cup from Thomas's hands.

'She's not Lucille, Edith.'

'No.' Edith sniffed and tried the tea. 'Not whatever it was that you gave me. I suppose you wouldn't know what it tasted like.'

'No. I would not.'

'This tastes odd.'

'No. Odd isn't the right word. Atrocious would come to mind. I think there's butter in there. Who puts butter into tea?'

Edith looked at her husband and felt a smile tugging at her lips. 'Who puts tea into tea to start with?' She took another sip. 'I like it, though. I think. It's not half bad. Doesn't taste so much like tea.' By the time Deirdre returned, she had drained Thomas's cup and returned it to him. Deirdre promptly refilled it for him and gave Edith a lingering look.

She had brought a dusty book with her. 'I had to look for this. Not often that I need it, you see. Look here.' She opened it about in the middle. 'Draugs. Walking corpses, mostly, and I for one have never met one. Spirits. They have a task and aren't a problem. Ghosts. They have no rest. Those are easy, if mildly disconcerting. More interesting are projections. You see, here. They are not ghosts.' Her eyes went to Thomas. 'They are the souls of living people. Living people who desperately want to be elsewhere but are unable to go there. They crave to be in a specific place so much their spirit breaks from them, leaving behind a husk. A few people can learn it, to wander in their sleep. Some do this often. Some only once, in the most unbearable moment of their life.' She reached out and pressed a finger against Thomas's scar. 'It leaves a mark, not unlike this one, but harder to notice. Deep, under your skin.'

'I told you, I saw you,' Edith said quietly. 'You came to me when you were almost dying. You wanted to help me, to the end. I wasn't imagining that.'

'No, child, if you saw your man, you saw your man.' Deirdre leaned closer, eyes narrowed. 'And you should not drink his tea. You do not need it. You are not fearful like he is.'

Thomas opened his mouth as if to protest, but thought better of it. With visible hesitance, he drank before he spoke again. 'Deirdre, if this ghost of ours is one of the kinds you listed, it's one with a task, and her task is to drive me to take my own life.'

'She's something else entirely.' Deirdre turned the page. 'The last kind. Rarely visible. Imprints, some call them. This book names them spectres. And they are trouble.' She sat back. 'I need to know the full truth. Who is this ghost?'

'My sister. Lucille.'

'Why should she want your death?'

'I don't know.'

'Boy, be honest. I can only help you if I know all there is.'

'She's jealous. Of Edith. Lucille and I …' He fell silent and Edith took his hand and held it. He squeezed back in a gesture of gratitude.

Deirdre laughed softly. 'Two children, the only company they know. She between you and the cane, but not for free. You, always in her debt. And you gave her what you owed her, anything she asked. Until this woman gave her love for free. You didn't have to vie for it, but it came as a gift, true and deep. I hope you treasure her.'

Thomas looked at Edith. In the dim light, his pupils were wide, his gaze intense even by his standards. 'With all my heart.'

'So. Your sister now believes you owe her your death? For betraying her? Perhaps. But you cannot think of a ghost as you would of a living being. They are single-minded, you see. Not as complex. She has one goal. Your death, you believe. But she wouldn't profit from that alone. No. She doesn't mean for you to die, I don't think. She wants you to join her. You need to die for that, of course, but her goal is you being with her, not you dying.'

'The question is, can you help us?' Edith asked. Thomas, next to her, was unusually relaxed. It was the first time since Father Christopher's death that he could look at their situation without his face going white. Lucille frightened him. Maybe, she always had, in a way.

'Oh, I cannot get rid of your ghost,' Deirdre told them.

Edith felt a wave of frustration. 'You can't? But … who can, then?'

Deirdre tutted. 'Your husband, of course, child. The ghost is his responsibility, but you may want to help him. You need to know how, first. I will go to the manor with you. I will need to speak to her.'

'Father Christopher tried that,' Thomas said. 'Or … whatever he tried. It didn't work that well. Unless he planned to turn himself into a ghost and talk sense into her. And even then, he failed badly.'

Deirdre smirked at his words. 'The troubled young man has a sense of humour. Unbelievable. Your priest was a young fool. I will need to sleep in your house, but you will keep vigil. I have no intention to die any time soon and certainly not in such a miserable place.'

Edith stood, understanding the dismissal. 'We will organise a carriage.'

'You will do no such thing. I will ride my own horse. We set out the day after tomorrow. I need to prepare for this.' She frowned. 'A ghost like this is not to be trifled with. She will be yours to deal with. Do you think you can do this, boy? Can you, when it comes to it, choose the wife who loves you over the sister who believes you owe her everything?'

Thomas leaned forwards, the cup still firmly in his hands. 'I owe her nothing anymore. I had no idea what love is when I met Edith. But I've learned it since and I will not forget how I came by that knowledge when the time comes. What Lucille feels, even what you feel, my love, will not change the outcome. What I feel matters. And about that, you need not be concerned, Deirdre. There is only one question I have: How do I fight a ghost?'

Deirdre shook her head. 'You do not. Every spectre has one thing that can convince it to leave for good or trick it into letting go of the world it clings to. What that is, I will attempt to find out. Now get lost, you two. Oh, but girl. Your fear. It is unfounded.'

Edith shook her head. 'My fear? I trust Thomas completely.'

'Ah. You misunderstand. Be cautious on your path. Take care of yourself and of your man. He is a treasure. But you know this, of course. You saw the heart of gold even under the rotting, uncured hide. Now he wears it on his sleeve, in every look he gives you.' She plucked the cup from Thomas's unresisting hands and ruffled his hair. 'Do not look so surprised, boy. I recognise a fine fellow when I see one. Now go. I need to prepare.'


	12. Finding the Key

_12\. Finding the Key_

The house felt hostile. Thomas knew this was ridiculous. But still. The moment he was inside, he wondered if he would ever leave it again on his own two feet. But dying meant leaving Edith and that wasn't an option if he had any say in the matter.

Apparently, she had written to Ferguson a few weeks ago, a while before she had told him. The truth was that he had no choice but to accept her help. And if all that history weren't still sitting in his neck, he could accept it without feeling sick. People married for money all the time, and this was, after all, what he'd done. Not all people tried to murder their rich spouses, however. That despite his intentions Thomas had fallen completely in love with this woman made his compunction only greater because he had still been prepared to watch her die. Well. Until it had all become real enough to rouse him from his emotional lethargy and he had made enough of a stand to receive Edith's absolution, which was the only one that mattered to him.

If he had chosen Eunice, he and Lucille would still be having sex in her bedroom. Eunice would be dead and he, Thomas, wouldn't have any idea what love could be like, how much strength it could lend. He was a lucky man indeed.

Deirdre entered behind them. 'Show me your kitchen,' she said. They did, and she set to prepare more of her disgusting tea. He had a pretty good idea what it was, and he was sure he didn't need anything of the sort. 'I will need to sleep and you will not disturb me,' Deirdre said. 'Keep watch and be silent. Where can I rest?'

'Guestroom,' Thomas said. 'Follow me please.'

Deirdre pointed at Edith. 'You too, girl. You have to look after the both of us until she shows.'

'But I …'

'Don't you feel it?' Deirdre closed her eyes and opened her arms wide, turning slowly around herself. 'You, she can't touch. You are too strong. Your presence is seeping into the house. It lives and breathes and if you linger, it will live and breathe you. It is always the strongest soul that shapes the soul of a house. Any house. And this one especially. Your soul will inspire a fine change to it.' She drained a hot cup of tea in one gulp. Maybe with age you grew insensitive to heat. Maybe it was just her. 'Now. Up, I suppose.'

'Yes. This way.' Thomas felt increasingly apprehensive as he walked up the stairs. They watched Deirdre clamber onto the guest bed.

'You stay in this room. Do not leave it. Do not talk until I am asleep. Then you can chat all you want. Girl, if you see me, do not fret, but I doubt that you will.'

Edith frowned slightly. 'What do you mean?'

'I will do what your dear man did. I will walk the house while I sleep. When I wake up, I hope I can tell you what it is that can untether her. It is always an emotion. Which one, I shall learn.' She closed her eyes. 'Now be quiet.'

They sat on two chairs next to the bed and waited. Thomas stared into the corridor outside through the open door, wondering if he would see … something. Anything. Lucille. Lucille …

Once his anger had been gone, it had never quite returned. He was prepared to admit that he was afraid of her, of what she could make him do. If she turned his hands against Edith rather than himself, he wouldn't be able to live with himself for a moment longer. But Edith was indeed the strongest soul that had been in this house in his lifetime, possibly even before. She was shielding him now, shielding Deirdre, her closeness ensuring that neither of them would end the way poor Father Christopher had.

Edith looked away from Deirdre to him and Thomas realised he'd been staring at her. Her eyes were asking what was wrong. Nothing was. Nothing at all. Thomas placed a hand on her shoulder and leaned in to kiss her softly. When Deirdre woke up, he would confront Lucille and be done. How hard could it be, really?

Ϡ

It didn't take long for Deirdre to awaken again. She blinked a few times and sat up rapidly. 'Ah. What a troubled, troubled child.' She shook herself. 'I almost convinced her to leave. But her ties to the place are too strong. Her ties to you, boy.'

'They go one way. I just want her to leave us alone already.'

Deirdre gave him a searching look. 'You certainly believe that, and maybe you are right. What do you think, what drives her? All spectres have one emotion that fuels them. Anger. Fear. Lust. Hatred. Despair. An appeal to that emotion will pull her out, enable you, boy, to see her, and then it will be up to you. What emotion, do you two think, is the one that will bring her before you?'

'Anger,' said Thomas.

'Lust,' said Edith.

Deirdre shook her head. 'Funny. You are both wrong. It is fear. You, girl, have what she wants, what she thinks is rightfully hers. She fears that she has completely lost her brother to you. You need to fuel that dread.'

'Excuse me. I need to make her jealous?'

Thomas shook his head. 'No. She already is jealous.' He stood and dusted himself off. 'Thank you Deirdre.'

'I will wait in your kitchen.'

'No, you have to leave. It's not safe.'

'I'll escort her out and come right back,' Edith said.

Deirdre laughed. 'You'll do no such thing, child. And there is no threat to me. You will soon have her full attention.'

'Hang on.' Thomas raised his hands. 'You said you almost got her to leave. How?'

'I told her that you have moved on. She watches you, boy, and she will keep watching. Her heart is broken, but not enough. You have to do the rest.' Her eyes narrowed. 'More difficult will be convincing her to leave. But her hold on this world is weak. The tiniest sign from you and she will be swept away, if it is the right sign you give her. What that is you will know in time.'

Thomas watched her go. He shivered. 'Edith, do you trust me?'

'You know I do.'

'We need to go to Lucille's room.' He looked at her, his eyebrows rising in the middle. 'I know that's the last place you want to be, but this has to be there. Please, come with me, my love.'

* * *

 _((There will be two more chapters and an epilogue. I've finished writing but not editing. I believe I can post the next bits one each day, but I promise nothing.))_


	13. Allure

_13\. Allure_

Edith hugged herself. 'What are we doing here?'

Thomas rubbed a hand over his face. He busied himself at Lucille's fireplace, throwing logs into it. 'Did you see Deirdre? Like you saw me?'

Edith shook her head. 'No.'

'Strange. How did you see me?' He started the fire and returned to her, offering both hands, and Edith held on to them, glad for the contact.

'I suppose you wanted me to,' she said.

'I can believe that.' He tugged on her hands, bringing her close, and put his arms around her. 'Edith, this is going to be the day the horror truly ends, one way or another.'

She pushed at him, suddenly worried. 'Meaning?'

'Meaning I have to face my sister alone, once she graces us with her presence. And after that, she will be gone. With luck, I won't.'

'Thomas, no! You can't risk yourself.'

'I have to convince her to leave us alone. I do believe that I can withstand her because I don't want to be with her in life or in death. But I've proven myself weak before. I wish I was convinced enough of myself to promise you that this time, I won't succumb. I don't think I will, but at least, if I do, you can't be harmed. I will be dead and she will be gone along with me.'

Edith tightened her arms around Thomas's waist. She wanted to drag him out of the house and as far away as possible. 'No,' she said again. 'You can't. You can't die.'

'I don't plan to. And I promise you that I will do the best I can to stay alive. With you. All I want is to be with you, Edith. And I hope so much that this is enough. That I am going to be enough.'

Edith took his face into her hands. 'You are wonderful and stronger than you know. You will survive this day. Do you hear me, Thomas?'

He rubbed his nose against hers. 'I do. Now, before I can do this, I need you.'

'How?'

Thomas smiled at her, sweetly, as if they weren't standing in his sister's room, as if he hadn't just told her that he wasn't sure he would survive. 'How else? Would you kiss me, Edith?'

'Thomas …'

'Don't look where we are.' He steered her to the bed and sat them both down on it. 'Look at me. Just me.' He smiled. 'You won't find me in the past.'

Despite herself, Edith smiled at him. 'Not fair.' But she did kiss him then, unable to resist. His lips on hers were soft and warm, hands travelling over her body. 'Thomas, what are you doing?'

'I need you to do something for me,' he said softly. 'She has to see that she has lost me. She needs to see that you broke every detail of the routine she had me captured in.'

'Can't we go to our room?'

He shook his head. 'I don't know if that would be enough.'

'Is this what you want to do, Thomas? You loved her.'

Thomas made a sound between a laugh and a sob. 'Oh, Edith.' He pulled her against his chest. 'I admire you so much. Since all this happened you never said a nasty word about the woman who tried to kill you. I know you have no love for her, you couldn't possibly after all that happened, but you didn't say a thing lest you hurt me with it. And now you have a shot at the ultimate revenge and want to turn it down.'

'Do I get to do that? Turn it down?'

Thomas pulled away a bit and looked at her. 'Did I ever give you the feeling that you have no choice?' She saw on his face that this was a serious question.

'No.' She brushed her lips over his. 'Never.' Still kissing him, she nestled at his clothes. It was incredibly difficult to lose herself, to ignore where she was, what she had seen in this very room. And it wasn't the sight of the siblings together that haunted her, it was her husband on the ground, pale and cold and she had been so certain that he was dead.

And all of a sudden, it didn't matter where she was. All that counted was that Thomas was very much alive and there with her, his skin warm and no longer sheet-white but flushed with the life coursing through him. With a moan that was almost desperate, she all but ripped Thomas's clothes off.

Chuckling, he came to her aid. 'Hey, I'll still need those.'

'Really? You could stay like that, if it's up to me.' His hands on her bare skin chased the chill of the room away, suffusing her with heat.

'Oh, you'd like that, no doubt. Do you like what you see?'

She did. There was no denying that. He was a striking man, her Thomas, his face beautiful as a painting, his body slender and defined and simply perfect. Instead of an answer, Edith kissed him soundly before moving down to his collarbone.

Thomas's hands went to her head, removing the pins that held up her hair with infinite gentleness until it flowed around her face and her shoulders. Edith waited until he was done before moving on, knowing his coordination would suffer severely once she reached her destination.

The first time Thomas had done to her what she was about to do, Edith had been half scandalised. It had felt way too good for her to protest, however, and it hadn't taken long for her inquisitiveness to win over propriety. She had wanted to taste him, to know every inch of his skin. When she had first taken him into her mouth, it had seemed strange to do such a thing, but now, as she moved down his chest, leaving a trail of kisses on her way, Edith's own anticipation was almost as great as his.

Their eyes met when she moved below his navel. 'Kiss me, Edith,' Thomas said softly. 'Kiss me there.'

Edith did him one better. With her hands on his hips, she sucked his tip inside. Rather than moving her lips further down, she swirled her tongue around him, drawing a quiet purr from him. Thomas was very quiet during their lovemaking as far as sounds went, although he did occasionally talk a lot. His fingers tangled in her hair as she started to suck on him. She let go of him when his hips started to move, swiping her tongue over the little slit instead, capturing a drop of clear fluid. After licking up his length twice, Edith closed one hand around him and sucked at the skin of his testicles before taking one into her mouth.

Thomas was all but thrashing under her, what control he had left slipping. His sex was throbbing in her hand, his hands clutching at the sheets in desperation. A part of her felt rather debauched, but in a good way. Thomas's hair was a mess when she looked up at him, his mouth open, his breath heavy and fast. There was a flush covering his face and his chest, prominent against the ivory of his skin. He was beautiful. And he was especially beautiful when he came apart under her ministrations, his eyes never leaving her for more than a moment.

Humming around him, Edith took him back between her lips, moving up and down over the ridge until he sat up abruptly and pulled her off him. He kissed her deeply, his hands moving down her back to her buttocks. 'I want to be buried in your core when I finish,' he said softly. 'I need you all the way. Right now.'

Keeping her eyes firmly on his face, Edith moved into his lap. Their foreheads were pressed together when she sat down on him, their gazes locked. Thomas's hands encouraged her movements, kneading her flesh. 'I love this,' he said softly. 'So close. So deep. So intimate.' He ran his hands up to the back of her neck. 'Only you, Edith. I never told you that. Only you have me this way, my entire body bared to you. Not just the necessary parts.'

'I had a suspicion.' Edith buried her face in his neck, inhaling his scent before she pushed against his shoulders, collapsing him on the bed. Thomas's hair was plastered to his forehead, his entire chest covered in a sheen of sweat. Bracing herself against his chest, Edith began to ride him in earnest, his hips thrusting up into her with relish, his hands resting on her thighs. 'How could I not want to see all of you, my handsome?'

Thomas's eyes were fixed at where they were joined, a mesmerised expression on his face. 'I love watching you, too. The way you move when we make love.' He put his left hand on her waist and let it travel upwards to cup her breast, kneading it gently. 'I'm so close, Edith.'

'Then let go.'

And he did. Eyes firmly on hers, he gasped when she clenched her muscles around him, filling her with his essence. Before he had truly caught his breath, Thomas flipped them over and knelt between her legs. He curled his left arm around her thigh and pushed two fingers of his other hand into her while he put his lips to her nub. His thumb was beneath it, moving in tiny circles, while he let his tongue flick over her. He didn't seem to mind one bit that he was coating his fingers in his own seed, only caring for her pleasure. Edith's hips bucked and he laughed against her skin, taking a moment to grin up before latching on to her again, sucking and nipping and licking and then he pushed the tip of his tongue against her and wiggled it and she came, suppressing a shout that Deirdre would haven been likely to hear downstairs.

Thomas didn't let go of her at once but continued to lap at her until she had calmed. Then he travelled back up her body and kissed her. She could taste herself and him on his lips and there was nothing more wonderful in the world than this moment. 'I love you, Edith,' he said. 'I will always love you.' For a few heartbeats, she soaked in the bliss before the reality of where they were came back to her. He put his lips next to her ear. 'You need to leave. Go downstairs, grab Deirdre and go outside. I will be with you shortly.'

Thomas sat and slipped into his pants. Against his still flushed skin, the two while scars on his chest stood out prominently. Dazed, frightened, Edith dressed, the pleasure of a moment ago seeming like a dream. 'Thomas,' she said quietly.

His gaze was at the door. Edith couldn't see anything, but she knew from his expression that he did. 'You need to leave,' he said again.

As she walked past him, Edith kissed Thomas's left cheek, her lips brushing over the third scar, the most brutal of the injuries that she had thought had killed him. 'Be careful.'

Thomas tore his attention from where it was, staring into seemingly nothing, and directed it at her. He took her face into both hands. 'I will be. Don't worry about me, just take care of yourself.' He kissed her temple and brushed his thumb over her cheek and smiled. He seemed confident enough, but as Edith walked downstairs, she couldn't help feeling that he had just said farewell.


	14. Shield and Spear

_((This chapter heading refers to one name of the irresistible force paradox: What happens when an unstoppable force hits an immovable object?))_

* * *

 _14\. Shield and Spear_

'Lucille.' Thomas took her in, a shade of black, neat and pristine. He knew how she had died, and from what Edith had told him, the ghosts she had seen had been marked by the way their life had ended. Not her. She was perfect. 'Oh, Lucille.' He felt his eyes watering. 'I am so sorry.'

She reached for him, and despite the fact that he couldn't feel her touch, he covered her hand with his. 'You are forgiven, my love.' Her voice echoed only in his head, her words for him alone. 'For all you have done, even this last.'

'I had to hurt you. Had to bring you to me. I knew no other way.' His heart was beating up in his throat, her presence, however ephemeral, threatening to engulf him, stifle the spark inside him and pull him back into the darkness.

'I know. It will all be well soon. I need you, Thomas. My brother. My love.'

'My love,' he echoed. But with the words came not the image of Lucille. Edith's face swam before his mind's eye, full of laughter as they'd danced in their cottage, full of sorrow as she had found him shattered in the mines. Thomas swallowed. His nerves calmed. 'My poor Lucille. Did you not listen? Deirdre …'

'The madwoman has no idea. I gave you comfort when you cried at night. I held you.'

'You did.' The tears broke from his eyes. 'You gave me warmth and love, Lucille. There is a good chance Father would have beaten the life out of me one day if not for you. Now you demand it back?'

Lucille's face was a mask of grief. Again, she reached out, her fingers touching the scar on his cheek, much like Edith did sometimes. 'I hurt you … I thought you must be dead. I would have held on if I had known you still lived.'

'You didn't know what you were doing. I am not angry at you. About anything. It isn't your fault, it never truly was.'

'Then you will come to me?'

'I want to live, Lucille. I want to be with my wife. What you just watched, this was absolutely real. I do love Edith. So very much. And I don't feel guilty about it, either.'

'But I belong with you, my little brother. I will never leave you. And you know that you belong with me as well. Never apart.'

Thomas nodded slowly. 'And if I come with you? If I take my own life for you?'

'We shall depart together. Joined in eternity.'

Deep down, Thomas had known there was only one way to release Lucille. Still calm, he walked to the drawer where he knew she kept scissors and knives. This time, when he brought one of them to his wrist, there was no foreign power guiding him. He couldn't look at Lucille when the blade bit into his flesh after only a moment of hesitation. Letting himself sink to the floor with his back against a closet, Thomas closed his eyes.

Ϡ

'How long can this take?' Edith asked. Deirdre didn't answer. She sat in the red snow, her forehead against her knees, her back against the gate. 'Deirdre?' For one irrational moment, Edith thought the old woman had died after all, but then she saw that she was breathing. With every passing second, Edith felt more like running back in, screaming for Thomas to come out and leave this well enough alone.

Suddenly, Deirdre stirred and looked up at her. She placed a wrinkled hand on Edith's calf. 'Go, girl. Go to your dear man.'

And Edith ran. She raced to the door, burst inside, and stormed up the stairs, her footsteps too loud in the silent house. Her steps carried her past the bathroom towards Lucille's room, the corridor suddenly horribly long.

'Edith!' Thomas's voice was soft, but it was enough to stop her so abruptly she almost fell. She didn't dare to turn, afraid what she would see. If he was dead, if this was his ghost calling her … A hand landed on her shoulder and turned her around, ever so gently. 'Edith,' he said again.

He looked pale and she knew that he had wept, but he was alive, he was real, and he was smiling at her. 'What happened?' she asked, almost choking on the words. She saw that he had a clumsy bandage on his wrist. 'Oh God, Thomas, you need help!'

'Hush. It's not what you think. I had to pretend, but it's not that, just my skin. I'm all right.'

'And Lucille …'

'She believed I would go with her once I cut myself. She's gone. For good.' He embraced her, and Edith leaned her head against his chest, hearing the steady beat of his heart. 'We're free, Edith. We're truly free.'

'I'm sorry you had to trick her.'

'She wouldn't go.' Thomas's voice was low, his pain audible. 'She couldn't see, couldn't understand that I'm all yours.'

'You two,' Deirdre's voice called below them. 'Come down, if you're quite done.'

Thomas took her hand as they walked back downstairs. 'Thank you, Deirdre.'

'You have never asked me what I wanted in return, you know.'

Edith and Thomas exchanged a glance. 'We'll pay you.'

'I don't need you money. But I will take your first child.' Edith stared at her, and Deirdre burst into laughter. 'Works every time. Fools. I want nothing from you except that you take care of each other. I still have some of the tea with me.' She brandished the small linen bag at Thomas. 'Would you like me to leave it here for you, boy?'

'No,' said Thomas.

'Yes, please,' said Edith.

Deirdre pocketed her bag. 'Not you.' She glared at her. 'Do you smoke, girl?'

'No,' Edith said, bewildered.

'Do you drink?'

'What? No! I mean, wine, rarely, but …'

'Don't.'

'Excuse me, but with all due respect …'

'Do what I tell you and don't let anyone convince you otherwise. And start using your head again, now this mess is over with.' She poked a finger into Thomas's chest. 'And you. You'd better fix this place quickly. Can almost spook an old woman, this. You need to have a safe home for your family.' She walked off without another word.

'What,' Edith said quietly, 'was that about?'

Thomas was staring after Deirdre. Then he looked at her, his gaze burning into hers. 'Edith, darling, I apologise in advance for being unduly forward, but when was the last time you bled?'

'I …' She felt the colour drain from her face and grabbed a fistful of Thomas's sleeve. 'Thomas, that was before we went to Father Christopher. Must be … I'd have to … wait, I'm four days … what if … Thomas, say something!'

He took her hand again, intertwined their fingers, and walked outside. The sun was setting over the forest, casting everything in a hazy orange glow. 'I will say something,' he said, his voice husky. 'This is very possibly the most beautiful day of my life.'


	15. Epilogue: Awake

_Epilogue: Awake_

'What's the verdict?' Thomas asked.

The structural engineer's pants were coated in red at his feet and he looked very sour. 'It's a miracle this thing is still standing, but sure, it can be done. I can see you tried to fix some of the damage yourself recently, and you've done a fine job. But it takes more to keep this place habitable. The mines under the house would not be accessible any more, once it's all done, I can tell you that much. And of course it's a question of how much you are prepared to pay.'

Thomas's gaze wandered to Edith who came up behind him. She offered the engineer a cloth to wipe his hands clean. 'Any idea what it will cost?' she asked.

'Here.' The man passed Thomas a stained piece of paper with a sum that made his heart sink. 'This is what it will cost you if you want this house to remain standing for the next generation and more. It doesn't include every other problem a blind man can see.'

'Those can wait,' Edith said. Thomas had hired workers and reopened his mine. They would make money soon, selling tiles and bricks and the clay itself, and they still had a lot of her own fortunes left. 'We can do this, Thomas.'

'Or,' he suggested, 'we tear the house down and build something new. We could live in the cottage, in the meantime.'

The engineer snorted. 'You won't live here while there's construction workers about anyways.'

'We'll make this work,' Edith said.

'Thank you,' Thomas said. 'I hope I can leave the matter in your capable hands?'

The engineer huffed. 'You sure can, Sir Thomas. I just wonder how you want to pay. This place is decrepit. It doesn't look like you can afford a hot meal tonight.'

'Understood. You get a deposit first thing tomorrow. We're not paying the full sum in advance.'

'Fair enough. Seeing what you already did to the place, you could offer a hand yourself. That would take a bit off this sum. Anyway. Good day to you. Ma'am.'

'You'd think,' Thomas said, snaking an arm around her, 'he's happy that he gets such a contract.'

'He thinks he won't see a penny, Thomas.'

He looked up at the hole in the roof. He had boarded it up enough to offer some protection from the weather, but it was far from ideal. 'I can't blame him, either.' He sighed. 'The frightening part is that I'll see a lot less of you. You won't be able travel up and down the mountain every day, that would soon be far too exhausting, and I cannot stay down with you all the time and leave my work alone.'

'But at the end, we'll have a house that is fit to raise a child in.'

'Indeed.' He looked at her. It was too soon to see much of a physical change, but by now they knew that Deirdre had been right, however she had known. Edith was three months pregnant. 'So we're going to rent that cottage again. I have to say, there are worse things. I have very fond memories of our time there.'

'Thomas, I think we should buy it. It takes a lot less to keep the cottage nice and warm, so that won't be a financial burden in the long run. And we wouldn't be cut off if we needed a Doctor in the winter. With a small child.'

'Oh dear, yes. Ah. Soon. Then this crazy endeavour will actually yield a profit, and I'll no longer leech away your heritage.'

'Ours, Thomas.' She leaned her back against him and put his hands on her belly. 'Ours.' She rested her head against his chest and he looked down at her. Edith tilted her head back and grinned, obviously amused at how he looked upside down. 'You know what? When we got married, I thought I was dreaming. A man like you, so handsome, so gentle, so …'

'Well-equipped?'

She turned around and glared at him. He grinned back. 'Kind, I was going to say,' Edith told him. 'But that, too, I should think. Thing is, I'm awake now. And you're still every bit as wonderful. Why is that?'

'I'm an amazing husband?' he offered.

Edith placed a gentle kiss on his lips. 'Very. And you will be an amazing father. I would absolutely marry you again if I stood at the altar right now, knowing all I do, the pain, the fear, but also this very moment.'

'I'll ask you that again in a couple of decades, my darling. But I'm optimistic that your answer won't change.' He touched his lips to hers before he continued. 'And neither will mine.'

 _((The sources of inspiration that I mentioned in the prologue were Benjamin Britten's opera_ The Turn of the Screw _and the misleading thing was William Somerset Maugham's short story_ The Force of Circumstance _. The opera would be a spoiler because it is a story about two_ very _evil ghosts, and Lucille or the manner of her influence on Thomas is not that dissimilar from those. The short story is misleading because the heroine in it chooses to leave her husband after her time of consideration._

 _I don't feel too bad about the absence of a major plot twist at the end, since there isn't really a gigantic one in the source material. What I did want was to give Thomas not just survival but a bit of growth regarding his dependency from Lucille as well as basic self-worth. I hope I managed that.))_


End file.
